Crawling Under the Surface
by Wesker888
Summary: Four years after Hogwarts, Ron takes a murder case that leads him back to a lost love. RHr. Rated T for mild language and pretty intense violence.
1. A Case Close to Home

Well, here it is: My first major Ron/Hermione fanfic. You all saw it coming after the hit "One Last Dance" turned into (I love how people get enjoyment off of my misery) and the fact that I said I'd do something like this on my profile page. Well, here it is.

For the life of me, I hope you find this entertaining. If not… well, your call.

Disclaimer: Pfft. Me? Own people like this, or a world like this? People, please! I'm 17 years old; I'm 5 foot 8, 131 lbs. of nothing. I don't even pump my own gas! What in Gods name made you think I owned everything J.K Rowling created in the universe known as _Harry Potter_?

In short, I own not Harry Potter, its world, or its characters. True, there are indeed several characters in here that I personally am responsible for creating, but that's the extent of it. Oh, and I suppose the plotline is mine, too.

Although the story says romance and mystery, there's also a touch of angst, a dash of action/adventure, a wide variety of humor, and- if you squint your eyes and cock your head- some horror.

So, anyhoo, enjoy.

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Chapter One: A Case Close to Home

_HOOT!_

An owl flew through the empty apartment. Underneath a large cover on a soft bed, a long arm reached out, grabbed the letter from the owl, and brought it under the covers to read.

"Mmm… Bleeding Christ," a British voice moaned.

The covers were then throw off, revealing a twenty-one-year-old Ron Weasley, a tall, well-built man with long, flaming red hair and freckles aligning his entire face. He stood at a good six foot three when he got up from the bed, and yet his pajamas- souvenirs from his dear sweet mother- barely touched his ankles. His hair went about neck-height, so it kinda looked like a mullet. The freckles, by rights a family trademark, ran rampant all over his face, so many that sometimes he wondered if, somewhere in his skin, there was a civilization of them, just multiplying until there was nothing but freckles on his face.

From this above description, you could tell three things: a.) Ron was a Brit, b.) Ron was abnormally tall and had a mullet-headed sea of red, and c.) Ronald Bilius Weasley was, and is, in fact, a moron.

And right now, he was being called for work. So, grabbing a long, wooden stick, he gave it a flick. Like magic- literally- the clothes came out of the closet and lay themselves out on the bed neatly.

Oh yeah, before this story goes anywhere else, there's one other thing you should know about our protagonist- he's a wizard. No, I shit you not, my friends. He is actually one of the famous companions of the legendary Harry Potter, the Chosen One who went to defeat Lord… well, we don't like to say his name. He's now four years out of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, and he's an Auror. Basically, the wizarding detective agency.

And right now, he's in America.

Why? Well, that's what you'll find out eventually. But now, we enter the story:

Once he got dressed, in less than five seconds, he had apparated down to the meeting place where this event that had woken him up at 8:16 on a Saturday was taking place.

A tall, thin man with slick, jet-black hair and a scruff stubble beard and rectangular glasses leaned against the wall. This man was dressed in the same way Ron himself was- in a long gray trench coat, with normal clothes underneath. This man was Ron's partner- William "Skip" DuMont, an American wizard and Auror. He had been Ron's partner during the last three years he had been in America, and they worked together on many cases- some successful, some not. He looked up at his red-headed friend and grinned.

"Morning, Ron-o," he said cheerfully.

"What's the word, Skippy?" Ron asked, business as usual. Which, if you had talked to someone who knew him in school, wouldn't have even been regarded, Ron and seriousness combined.

"Ah, another murder victim. Same as all the others," Skip replied, getting serious too.

"You _do _know we're not supposed to be on duty for two weeks, right?"

"Eh, whaddya gonna do?"

They started walking over to where other Aurors were examining the crime scene.

Lately, a murderer had been going free in the city of Manhattan, New York. He targeted mainly women, though the first two or three had been males. Their intelligence couldn't find any connections between the death tolls, which by now, with the latest victim, numbered thirty-eight. Quite effective for a killer who's only been around for a month, eh?

The two Aurors bent down and picked up the sheet covering the body. Both winced in disgust. The body was blown to hell. It was like blood had just about poured out of every orifice of the body for no reason.

"What could've done this? _Avada Kedavra?" _Skip asked.

"No. That curse doesn't leave any visible signs," answered Ron.

"_Sectumsempra_?"

"That spell only cuts you up. It doesn't blow you up from the inside."

"Well, then what could this be?"

"Dunno," Ron's hand touched some of the wounds, "It's nothing I've ever seen."

"_Deviggio_."

This came from a voice behind them. They turned to find the owner of the voice- a tall, heavily- built man with broad shoulders. His skin was light brown and his lack beard stretched along his face. Sunlight gleamed off of his bald head, and his green uniform, with the many war medals, stood out from the other people's clothing. This man was a war hero, having fought in the first war with the un-named lord, the second, and many other wars in between and after.

"General Brownside," Ron said spitefully, "I thought you were campaigning in the Middle East." The sight of this man brought up a past he would've long soon forgotten.

"I was," The General answered in a gruff British voice, "And now I'm here. This case now falls under _my _jurisdiction. Got a problem with that?"

"Actually, I-" but Ron was shut up by Skip, who cut in with, "No, sir, no problem sir," accompanied with a smile.

General Brownside grunted and moved over to two other Aurors.

"Smooth, Ron-o, _real_ smooth," said Skip out of the corner of his mouth.

"Hey, you don't have to be such a bloody suck-up."

"It's called 'tactics', dude. Look it up."

They followed after the General, who was explaining the effects of the curse.

"_Deviggio_ is a spell that was developed during the last stages of the War with Voldemort (N/N: the un-named lord, by the way)," he explained, "It was a designed combination of _Avada Kedavra_ and the Cruciactus Curse, where as it kills indefinitely and the victim feels every ounce of pain inflicted upon him before dying."

"Jeez, you'd think something this serious would've been given a cooler name," Skip muttered under his breath. Always the comedian.

"It's no laughing matter," Brownside sneered, "_Deviggio _has recently been added in as an Unforgivable Curse. Meaning whoever is using this is someone from that time period of invention. Most likely a Death Eater."

"Any names in particular?" One Auror, Huntington, asked.

"No. This project was kept top secret until the last stages of the War. We've searched and still have pulled up no known suspects."

The Aurors all shifted uncomfortably at this. The General glared at all of them.

"Weasley, DuMont, you two got this case. I want names, crime scenes, any suspect lists you can put together. I want motives, I want connections. Fail to do that, and I won't make your lives easy. Clear?"

"Yeah," both sighed.

"Everyone else, dismissed."

The Aurors all vacated. Ron looked at Skip, both thinking the same thing.

"All nighter," said Ron, disgruntled.

"Yeah," Skip sighed, "So much for me getting home in time to kiss my girls goodnight."

Ron remained emotionless. Hearing Skip talking about his family was depressing. The guy was his age, and he was happily married with two girls he loved like the dickens. And a third child was on the way. In short, the perfect family man.

Which depressed Ron, as he didn't even have a girlfriend. No one to love.

Well… there was one girl…

But that was long ago.

He shook it off. "Alright, Skippy," he said, "We got work to do.

* * *

N/N Narrator's note. Yeah, it's messed up. He'll tell the story, but he likes to be part of the story too, y'know?

Skip, some may noticed seems a lot like Maes Hughes from _FullMetal Alchemist. _Actually, he's based more off of me- except I don't wear glasses and my hair's a lot longer.

Brownside… he's just a figment of my imagination. Huntington will have a larger role as well.

And that's all.

Review please.


	2. Morning Interruptus

Chappie no. 2.

Reader of Canon FF: Thank you for the first review!

Salemsoriginal99: I once did a comic book where the narrator popped in and out of the story. To my immense surprise, it was actually a big hit. But that was a Resident Evil parody comic, and this isn't one of those stories, so I doubt he'll be around too long. No fear. But thank you especially so much for the review!

And now, the other side of the story…

Enjoy.

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Chapter Two: Morning Interruptus

It was about six in the morning. The day was dreary- England usually was. But today seemed exceptionally dreary. Must've been the atmosphere. And the fact that today was a day to remember for someone who didn't want to remember it. And right now, she was washing her face in the sink, getting the sleep out of her eyes.

She was about five foot three, twenty-one years old. She had brown eyes and teeth that you could tell used to be big, but got shrunk by an unknown entity. Since leaving school, she had acquired quite a figure, one that men all seemed to notice. Her real main appearance, however, was her hair. It was hair that had seen many days, many battles… many combs. Now straight and shiny, it used to be some of the most well known hairs of Hogwarts- one could usually, if walking into the library, see a giant bushy mass of brown hair.

In short, she was Hermione Granger.

Yes, the female counterpart and brains behind the famous "Golden Trio." Having finally finished dealing with the war against… _Voldemort _(shudder), she became a Healer over at St. Mungos. It was a slower job than during the war, but compared to all she had been through at school, she wasn't complaining.

Besides, the pay was good.

She sighed into the mirror. Despite a good job, a flat she could afford, and great friends, she was… _discontent_, let's say, with life. The war had been ended, obviously, so she could finally have peace. But, it came with a price.

In order to stop… _Voldemort_, Harry had to sacrifice himself. He died peacefully, it was said, though she doubted anyone would ever know. He was buried at Hogwarts, next to Dumbledore. He would've liked that.

And Ginny… Hermione remembered that tearful night. The night when Ginny left, not coming back anytime. She couldn't stay around anymore. Not with Harry gone, it was just too hard. So she left, packed up for France. Except for the occasional letter or two per month, she was yet to be seen or heard since that night.

That was just another low blow for Hermione. Now that Harry was gone and Ron had…

Best not talk about it.

The day of work started out just like every other. The patient on room 007 was having his morning panic attack, but that came under control. And then some woman came in with a flower popping up off the top of her head. She was in for treatment with a male Healer now.

Hermione sighed. She knew she shouldn't be complaining, but… she just felt so empty. She remembered the promise the four of them had made- they'd live together, be each other's support, family. But in the end, it was only her.

Well… not _only_ her-

"Boring day, huh?"

Her friend and roommate, Lindsay Green, came in out of nowhere. Probably on break. Hermione had met her during the war, when she had come across her wounded by a Reductor Curse, and she had done her best to patch her comrade up. They had been pretty good friends since then, even going so far as buying their own flat together. Lindsay was probably what got her through the days without Ginny around. Twenty years old and with a French background topped with an accent, she had long blonde hair wrapped in a ponytail, piercing green eyes that reminded Hermione of Harry, and a personality that was wild and ready to do anything.

"That doesn't even come close to comparing it," Hermione grinned. Chaos always reigned when Lindz was here. "What are you doing here?"

"Came to see my favorite roommate at work," Lindsay replied.

"Lindz, I'm your only roommate."

"Details," she waved it aside, "So what do you want to do tonight?"

"I don't even want to think about it," Hermione said with a sigh.

"Her- _mion_-e!" her friend moaned, "You never come out to the club! You need to go and meet a good guy. You can't be single forever."

"I'm sorry, Lindz, I really am. But…" she turned away, "I can't. I just can't forget him."

"Oh _Gods_, not the childhood boyfriend again," Lindsay groaned.

"He wasn't my childhood boyfriend, he was my school boyfriend," Hermione corrected, "And Ron wasn't just some guy who wanted snog sessions. He was special."

"_Was_! Exactly, Hermione, keyword was '_was'_! But it's been three years! And- correct me if I'm wrong- didn't _he _leave _you _to go off on some adventure in another country without so much as sending you a postcard? Does that sound like love?"

Hermione couldn't face her. Tears were slowly starting to stream down her face. Lindsay just couldn't understand. Complexity wasn't her strong suit. And this was a complex matter. It had been since the day she and Ron had met. And it would be for a long time.

"Is everything alright over here?" This came from David, another Healer. To go into description of him would be useless, as he comes in to this story as much as a tree frog does. Just know that he's their age and has curly blonde hair with watery eyes.

"Yes, David. Everything's fine," Hermione whipped her eyes free of any tears. Lindsay just stared at her, both in frustration and concern.

"There's a man up front for you, Miss Granger. Says he has something to give you," the male said.

Frowning, Hermione walked past both of them and around the corner.

And that was when she first saw him.

The man was a five foot seven, and had pretty broad shoulders. He wore a large trench coat and a hat rested on his head. A scarf covered his lower face, mouth and all, and the hat was pulled over his eyes, so all that she could see was his nose. His hands were in his pockets and he stood forbidding, as though reckoning all to take him on, knowing he would not be beat.

She didn't know why, but at that moment, she was filled with all sorts of fear. Whatever he was here for, she doubted it was anything friendly. Nevertheless, as her duty as a Healer told her, she stepped out, Lindsay and David right behind her, and nervously called out:

"Um, excuse me? Sir? You wanted to see me?"

The man slowly turned to face her. Whatever courage she had had up until now was now gone forever.

"Are you Ms. Hermione Granger?" he asked in a low American voice.

"Y-Yes."

"I have a present for you." And with that, he whipped his right hand out and up at her. And, to her horror, it had a wand in it.

"HERMIONE!" she heard Lindsay scream next to her. Her roommate tugged her sleeve and both of them fell to the floor as he shouted the spell.

However, David had not gotten the message.

"_DEVIGGIO_!"

A jet of dark blue light shot out of his wand and hit David in the chest. His chest ripped open in several places. Blood out like a geyser from it and in spurts out his back also. The male Healer grunted and fell backwards- slowly, it seemed, as though it were in a dream. A trickle of blood fell out his mouth as his body hit the floor with a mushy THUD!

I told you he wouldn't appear much.

"DAVID!" Hermione screamed, crawling towards the other. The assailant, cursing his aim, apparated out before anyone could take him.

David's eyes were wide and empty. No life lingered in the once watery eyes. Hermione let out a sob as she closed them.

The other Healers rushed over and did what they could for him, though it was a hopeless case. The Head Healer led Hermione and Lindsay over to the chairs. "Wait here," he told them, "I'll send someone along to look after you."

Then he left to try and restore order, at the same time as figure out what exactly had happened. Lindsay clutched her friend's hand.

"Are you OK?" she asked.

Hermione half-nodded. It was only half for an obvious reason- physically, she was fine.

But she doubted she would ever feel OK inside again.

Outside, the man watched as a horde of Aurors stormed into the building. He smirked under his scarf.

"Well, I suppose this'll do… for now," he said, "I'd better get back before anybody misses me."

And with another POP!, he was gone.

* * *

… Eh… this chapter felt rushed. I dunno, maybe it's just me. What do you think?

You know, I re-read some of the books and it's occurred to me that you never see blue-lit charms. I mean, we've got our red light (like Stunning and Disarming), our green light (_Avada Kedavra_), I think a yellow light's been in there, maybe (snickers at the pun), but I've _never_ seen a blue light, have you?

There's _Deviggio_ for you. Kinda graphic, but there you have it.

Review please.


	3. Going Home

Chapter numero tres. 

MissAmanda: Thank you for the review. I'm working as fast as I can.

Reader of Canon FF: Yeah, I thought so. I'm making this one not-so-as-much.

Enjoy:

* * *

Chapter Three: Going Home

Ron rubbed his weary eyes. This was insane, and going nowhere. They had been going at this now for eleven hours straight with little break. And so far, they had not even been able to tell if this guy liked potato salad or veggie wings.

… Don't ask. In short, they had no leads.

He was in his office, going over all the facts and evidence- or at least, what facts and evidence they had. There wasn't a whole lot. Just that, after the third kill, the killer only targeted women. That he used _Deviggio_ on all of them, to gruesome effect. And that witnesses have confirmed that he always wore a trench coat with his face covered. Not much more than that.

Next to him, Skip was asleep with his head in his arms, snoring loudly. He had fallen asleep about two hours ago, and it showed. His glasses were askew, his mouth wide open and drooling. How Kristina DuMont lived with this poor man was a mystery, but it was a wonder she hadn't left him yet.

Ron smirked and looked back into his work. His smirk left. What was the connection? It was a well known fact a group of murders done by one person always had a connection. No self-respecting idiot would just kill at random. What was this one?

His door suddenly swung open, and Huntington came in, looking thoroughly disheveled.

"Ron, thank God," he panted.

"Cam, you're all sweaty. What's wrong?" Ron asked.

"Huh? Oh, I've just been looking all over for you," Huntington said, disregarding the panting and sweat, "The General wants you in his office. Now."

The Brit sighed. "Alright," he started shaking Skip awake.

"Whuzzah?" The American awoke with a start.

"C'mon, Skippy. Brownside wants us."

Both got up. Skip followed Ron out the room, pausing only to wearily examine Huntington's state of being.

"Cam, Jesus, d'you just run a marathon or something?" he said sleepily, before moving off. Huntington just stared after them, and then sniffed his armpit, whipping his nose away when he realized just how badly he smelled.

Before long, Ron and Skip found themselves in General Brownside's office, with the good (OK, that was a lie) General stroking his beard and gazing at the map.

"There was another murder this morning," he said. Both Auror's heads turned sharply towards the other. "This one happened at St. Mungo's Hospital in London. Male."

Skip whistled. "Guy moves fast."

"We believe now he's going to stay there and begin a new spree. Eyewitness confirmed the spell was directed towards a female Healer, but it missed and hit her associate instead. We think this girl might be the one he's after."

"Well, hell, he's already killed… how many now? Thirty, forty? What's one more?" Skip joked.

"So, seeing as how the situation has changed, we're going to have to take different steps."

"And… that means…?" asked Ron.

"It means pack your bags, boys," Brownside threw down two travel tickets, "You're going to England."

"_England_?" Skip's face lit up like the Fourth of July. He had always wanted to go to England.

"England?" Ron's already kinda-pale face went even paler. England. He was going back home. A home he had long since put away.

"Six Aurors from out division are going over there to help," General Brownside explained, "Me, you two, Cameron Huntington, Annika Rodyle and Jean Loiselle. We're the only ones who know what Britain's up against. It's our baby."

"Sir, I can't go," Ron cut in firmly. Skip turned with a look that said "_Are you out of your mind_?"

"Yes, you _are_," Brownside glared at him. "This is your case and I have personally requested your presence on this. And, boy, I think it's about time you let go of your past."

Ron had never hated this man more in his entire life. His fists were clenched so tight, his fingernails were dug into his skin. Skip backed away, fearing that his friend was about to blow up at a minute's notice. But Ron somehow managed to control himself, and he took some deep breaths, just letting it slide.

"Get your bags packed. We're leaving in six hours." And with that, the meeting was over.

-----

"So we definitely have to stop by my place before we leave. I need to say good-bye to the girls. And you _have_ to see Jenny, oh my God, she's starting preschool and already, she's writing in complete sentences! You just have to see the girl! She's gonna be a writer, I just know it!"

Ron couldn't help but laugh. The whole family was just too funny.

Skip had met Kristina when they were both at the Wizarding School in New York. Right away, they knew they would be together forever. They started dating in their fourth year and their first… you know, was at the beginning of seventh. Their plan called for getting married, he'd get a job, and their main concern would be starting a family.

Which really kicked into effect, as Jenny was born three days after their graduation.

Neither was deterred by this, as other young couples would be. They both welcomed it. Skip became an Auror and still had time to be the father he always wanted. Kristina worked as a stay-home Herbologist, and took care of her during the days. When their second daughter, Lily, was born a week before Jenny's second birthday, it was just another bundle of joy. Where these two got their energy, no one knew, but it was just simply amazing.

And now, if you could believe it, Kristina was expecting again. Skip thought for sure it would be another girl, but Kristina was stubbornly saying this one was a boy. By the way he/she was kicking.

"What do you think I'd do if she had the baby while I was away? I don't think I could handle missing her birth!" Skip moaned.

"_His_, mate. It might be a '_he'_."

"Dude, it's a girl, alright? Odds are in my favor on this one,"

Pause.

"Hey, Skippy? How did you know?"

"What, know my kids' gender? Simple, it's all a matter of-"

"No, I mean… when you met Kris, how did you know she was the one?"

Skip stopped packing Ron's suitcase and looked at his friend.

"Well, this is a first," he said, "Usually you stay away from topics like that."

Ron shrugged. His partner laid the suitcase on the bed.

"Well, Ron-o, I don't really know how to explain it. It's just this feeling, you know, that you knew this was it. You had, in front of you, the kind of girl that gave you butterflies. And it's been my experience that you don't meet many of those. And you'd be a damn fool not to hold onto them. It's that kinda thing, y'know?"

Ron half-smiled. This had been just the sort of response he had been hoping for, in some way. Leave it to Skippy to have that kind of thing to say.

"So, why'd you bring it up?" Skip pondered.

"Nothing, it's just…" Ron sighed, "This case… getting me back home… it's got me thinking-"

"About that chick from school?" Skip braced for impact.

"…Yeah."

"Oh, for Gods sakes," the American turned in sheer frustration, "Dude, seriously, the 'getting old' phrase doesn't seem to deter you, does it?"

"Skippy, don't you dare contradict me; you just went through that whole thing on not letting go on girls like that."

"Yeah, but… look, Ron-o, it's been, what? Four years?"

"Yeah, give or take."

"You haven't seen her in the space of four years. You haven't talked to her since that whole war over there ended. Why is that?"

"I… forget it."

"No, seriously, there must have been a reason. What, she fell out of love with you? You realized it would've been better? Or did you just want to die like your buddy?"

"Shut up, Skip. Seriously." The conversation was starting to get heated.

"Why, Ron?"

"I DIDN'T WANT HER TO BE NEAR ME, ALRIGHT?!"

Skip said nothing, kinda shocked by his friend's outburst. Ron sat down on the bed and put his head in his hands.

"I did a lot of bad things back then, Skip. A lot of terrible, inhumane things."

"Ron, it was a war. There was nothing you could've done to change that fact," Skip said firmly.

Ron snorted. "Easy for you to say, you weren't even there."

His partner sighed. "No, you're right. I wasn't. But if you didn't want to kill people, then you shouldn't have been there either."

"It wasn't as simple as all that, Skippy. Harry needed me." His old friend's face swam through Ron's mind.

"And so did she. You walked away because you wanted her to be happy. See, I do believe in a thing called true love. It exists inside of you, me, hell, even Brownside. But I also believe in time changes everything. Soul mates are great, Ron-o, but… there's a thing as letting go. However much you don't want to, however much you want to fight, at some point you have to ask yourself why you're holding on. What are you holding on for?"

Skip sat down next to him. Ron gave it some thought, though he wasn't sure why- he already knew what he was gonna say. What he always said, and what he would always say, until death claimed him.

"I'm holding on to that, someday, I'll be with her again," he said, "and I'll be better for her than I was before."

Skip grinned that daredevil grin he had. This was the best response out of the kid he had ever gotten. Ron rarely talked about his old days. He was haunted by them, and it showed even in his physical appearance. There were these puncture marks all over his arms that he had no idea what could have made them. And a scar ran jagged across his back as well, that coming from a well-aimed Sectumsempra curse. But there were other wounds as well; emotional ones. This girl, whoever she was, was very lucky to have someone love her, even after all this time, a country apart, as much as Ron did. Skip honestly though he was ready for the Big Leagues now.

If he only knew where she was.

He stood up and sighed.

"Well, c'mon, partner," he walked towards the fireplace.

"Where are we going? We've still got a few hours," Ron said, frowning.

"I know," Skip grimaced, "Dealing with a killer is nothing. Try dealing with an angry, pregnant wife. But the sooner I bear Kristina's wrath, the better."

-----

And bore it he did. Ron didn't think he had ever seen the two fight like that. True, they fought, but kinda like he and Hermione used to do- like an old married couple. This was different. Kris was pissed. Ron could just hear half of the conversation loud enough through the thick kitchen door.

"Honey, please calm down. Think of the baby-"

"Don't you give me that! I'm not the one who's going off to a foreign country to chase after bad wizards days before the baby's due!"

"Well, maybe we can all go. Family trip. We can bring Scott and Delia with us, you always wanted that-"

"Oh, you actually want to do things with my friends? An awful Quidditch player and a (here she said something Ron definitely knew she'd never say in front of the children)?"

"Woah, that was harsh."

"That's quoting you, Will."

"Hey, I did _not_ call Delia an awful Quidditch player!"

The kitchen door swung open and Kristina DuMont stormed out. A fairly pretty woman, she had curly brown hair that went down to her shoulders and hazel eyes that right now bore anger in them. Ron was amazed that she moved so fast for someone was close to being due, but then again, this was Skip's wife. She must've picked it up from him. Skip came out right behind her.

"Krissy, don't be like this, please? I'm sorry, I don't want to leave, you know I don't, but the General handpicked me-"

"Did you tell him your wife is pregnant?" demanded Kristina.

"Not to butt in, but I don't think there's a person in the division who _doesn't_ know of your status, Kris," Ron pointed out, "Skippy's made sure of it."

"Yes, I made sure to tell him," Skip said, ignoring his sniggering friend, "but honey, the General's like a brick wall. You could aim twelve Reductors right down the middle, and he won't so much as crack. He want's me on this."

"It's not fair! Your duty right now should be home with your family!"

"Mommy? Daddy? What's wrong?"

Four-year-old Jenny DuMont had just come in. She looked from her mother to her father to Ron and then back again. Kristina grabbed Skip's arm.

"We'll continue this conversation in the kitchen," she grumbled, dragging her husband away. Skip shot Ron a look pleading for a savior, but all he got was an evil grin and a wave as the door closed his view.

Ron couldn't help but laugh at the situation Skip had landed in, but stopped when he felt Jenny stare up at him. He shifted nervously.

"Uh, hey, kiddo," he said.

"Hiya, Uncle Ron," Jenny grinned up at him.

She was a cute little squirt. She had her mother's hair, though it was longer and went down in a long pony-tail. She also had her mother's eyes, big and round. But her flamboyant nature, along with her devilish grin, definitely came from the male portion of her chromosomes. She was so much like her father, it was kinda scary.

And she loved Ron. He wasn't even related to them, but Skip and Kristina allowed them to call him Uncle. Whenever he came by, Jenny would always try to find an activity for him, her, and two-year-old Lily DuMont. Right now, she sat down next to him and continued to look up.

"Are you and Daddy going away?" she asked sadly.

"Just for a little while," he assured her, "We'll be back before you know it."

"I wish I could come with you."

"I know. But you need to be a strong lady for your mum and sister. You're the woman of the house. You need to look after them and take care of them, alright?"

Jenny nodded. That's what Ron really like about her; she took what he had to say in one ear and swished it around long enough for her to get the picture.

They paused for a second to listen to the argument in the kitchen. Suddenly, they heard a loud crash and a shout.

"Kristina, baby! Put the frying pan down and let's talk this out-"

"SAY THAT TO ME AGAIN, WILLIAM DUMONT, AND SEE WHAT HAPPENS, SO HELP ME GOD-"

At this, many things popped through Ron's mind. Mainly why Kristina, in her condition, would go after Skip with a frying pan.

"Do they always fight like this?" he asked Jenny.

"Naw. But it's kinda funny when they do," the girl giggled.

They sat and listened to the crashes and "manly" screams Skip made. Then, right out of nowhere-

"Uncle Ron, how come you're not married?"

Ron gulped. The little tyke was looking up at him with those innocent eyes.

"W-What?" he stammered.

"Mommy says you're not married because you're sad. How come?"

The first thing that ran through his mind was either Skip or Kris putting her through this, but then, judging by the look on her face, he realized she was just asking out of curiosity. He picked her up and set her on his lap.

"Well, Jenny, honey," he said, "I just haven't found someone I… that is, there's… bollocks, this is hard." He sighed, "Tell you what... when I get back, I'll tell you the whole story."

"Really?" her eyes went wide.

"Really."

"Will it be a good story?"

"I promise it'll be a good one."

"Yay!" she gave her "uncle" a big hug. At that moment, Skip threw the door open and then slammed it shut behind him. He fell back against it, panting heavily, looking thoroughly disheveled. His glasses were askew, his hair was a mess, and he was sporting a large bump on his head.

"So… ready to go now?" he asked, almost nonchalantly.

_Almost_.

"Daddy, what about Lily?" asked Jenny.

"Oh! Yes, of course, where is my other little peanut?" her father rushed upstairs. Jenny ran after him, and Ron took his time following.

He arrived just in time to find a crying Lily and a fatherly Skip trying to calm her down.

"Sweetie, don't cry. I'll be back in about a week," he said.

"Daddy, I miss yoo!" little Lily cried.

"I'll miss you too, Honey. But I'll come home soon, I promise. And I'll bring a gift back from England, OK?"

She sniffed. "Awight," she said, "I wuv yoo, Daddy."

"I love you too, Sweetheart," Skip kissed his daughter on the head, "Be a good girl for Mommy, alright?"

"Okey-dokey."

"Alright," Skip then turned to Jenny, picked her up, and gave her a big hug. "You've got to be a big girl for Mommy and Lily, alright?"

"I know. Uncle Ron already told me."

Skip looked at Ron and nodded. Ron nodded back. Skip put his daughter down and kissed her head as well.

"Bye, kiddos," he gave one last little wave as Jenny started playing dolls with Lily. Then both adults left.

"It's tough saying good-bye to your kids," Skip sighed.

"Going off to a foreign country, no less," Ron added.

"On top of the fact that we're not even supposed to be on duty this week."

Kristina was waiting for them at the bottom of the stairs. Her anger seemed to have subdued, and she no longer held any blunt instruments. In fact, from the look on her face, Ron could tell she had been crying a bit. When Skip came down to greet her, she turned sideways a bit and threw her arms around his neck, a new wave of tears coming out.

"Just come back alive, OK?" she pleaded.

"Baby, you know I will," he wrapped his arms around her as best he could; "I'll be back and annoying you before you know it."

"Ron," she looked over to her husband's partner, "Make sure you keep an eye on him."

"Two eyes," Ron insisted, "he can't be trusted without a chaperone. Last time I did, they still never re-built that French restaurant."

She laughed a little, and that helped the mood. But she still refused to let Skip go.

"Honey, I need to go now," he whispered softly into her ear.

She kissed him softly, then, reluctantly, let go.

"Come home soon," she whispered.

"I promise," he smiled.

And with all said, they left. They decided to walk a little before Apparating. Skip kept looking back to where Kristina, Jenny, and Lily were waving him good-bye. Kristina and Lily were still crying.

"Like I've been saying," he sighed, "Dealing with family is scary. Give me a killer to track down anytime."

-------

Annika Rodyle bent down to tie her boots. She couldn't have been happier right then. _Finally_, their first real assignment in months.

She was an old-time Auror, age twenty-eight. She was also the hottest- long blonde hair that fell past her shoulders, a nice, curvy figure, and a sexy Swedish accent that got all the guys' blood pumping down there. She was a six-year veteran on the team, and was an expert in hand to hand. Though she armed herself with a dry, sarcastic personality, her softer side showed sometimes. Just sometimes.

She suddenly became aware of a pair of eyes focused on her. Or rather, on her hindquarters.

"You know, from behind, you do not look half bad," a French voice said.

"And from where I'm standing, you're a flirting disaster," she responded, shaking her head with a smile on.

"Ah, _mon ami_, I do not flirt… I seduce."

The voice belonged to Jean Loiselle, her partner at age thirty-two. He had been on the team as long as she had, and had an outstanding knack for flirting with her and all females in the Ministry more than he actually dated them. He was tall, with chestnut hair and a scrubble. Despite his attitude, he was an honest and trustworthy member of the team, always there for the guys and backing them up. It was that sole-redeeming feature that made him tolerable.

"Loiselle," Rodyle turned to face him, hands on hips, "How about you focus on the mission instead of my ass?"

"But it is so beautiful," Loiselle grinned. She rolled her eyes and stormed past to her locker.

The third member of this trio was one we already know. Cameron "Cam" Huntington, the newest and rawest member of the team. Mid-height, with messy brown hair, around age twenty. Normally, he was so talkative you couldn't get him to shut up, but he was right now staring into absolutely nothingness, something Rodyle quickly noticed.

"Kid's been awfully quiet lately," she pointed out.

"Who, Huntington?" Loiselle turned to look, "Yeah, you are right. Oye, Cameron!"

Huntington looked up at the other two.

"You OK?" Loiselle asked.

Huntington just nodded, his head bobbing up and down so hard, it would've fallen off had it not been screwed to his shoulders. On closer inspection, Rodyle saw that he looked awfully green.

"Hey, relax, kid," she winked, "We've been through worse. This is nothing."

He just nodded again and went back to staring at nothing.

She glanced at Loiselle. The Frenchman shrugged and went back to checking his gear.

The door opened then and Ron and Skip came in. Rodyle and Loiselle gave them both a little wave. Skip waved back.

"How is the old lady, Skippy? What did she have to say about your sudden departure?" Loiselle grinned.

"Oh, you know Kris. See this bump? She did it." Skip lowered his head to show the bump. Loiselle whistled.

"Hey Ron?" Rodyle interrupted.

Ron looked up. "Yeah?"

"You used to live in this place, right? What's it like?"

Skip and Loiselle turned their heads to hear this as well. Ron gulped.

"Um… well, it's kind of gloomy… dirty's another word I'd used to describe Knockturn Alley- the wizards back alley center-, um… it's homey, though, and definitely a lot of friendly people… I dunno, haven't really seen the place in a couple of years, it mighta changed-"

"An adventure in a foreign land, how magnificent," Loiselle said, putting on his charismatic face and cloaking himself with his theatrical attitude, "Let us go into the unknown and defeat the evil that threatens to engulf the female kind!"

"You need to shrink your head is what you need to do," said Rodyle between laughs.

The door opened again, this time allowing the entrance of General Brownside. The rest of the group stopped talking and stood at an attentive posture.

"Well," he said, "the whole team is assembled. Now, before we go, I need to fill you in on a few things, so gather around."

Huntington got up off the floor and joined his other comrades as they circled around the large General.

"Now, the purpose of today's murder was supposed to be directed towards a female Healer. As he failed to kill her, this now gives us an advantage," said Brownside.

"How so?" asked Skip.

"If he failed the first time, then he's gonna want to come back to make sure he gets the job done. So, we simply allow her to be the one that draws her to us."

"Wait- you mean use her as _bait_? She's a woman, not a ham sandwich!" Ron exclaimed.

"Relax. No harm will come to her. We just make sure she's under our constant watch. She'll be under our protection the entire time."

"So how are we gonna do this job with a civi hanging off us?" Rodyle prodded.

"We'll work that out at a later time. And Loiselle- no flirting."

"I make no promises," Loiselle said with his devilish grin on.

"Alright, lads, we've got Floo Powder on site. Heading to the Ministry of Magic. Move it out."

The walk to the fireplace was one of those long, drawn out ones that only happen in those lame "saving the world" movies. They walked in a straight line, left to right. Ron was in between Brownside and Skip, in the middle. He couldn't help but think of how stupid this must've seemed to all the bystanders, but then he remembered that Americans loved this stuff.

One by one, the group went through. Brownside was first; his big frame barely made it through the fireplace. Loiselle allowed Rodyle to go first ("Ladies first," he had said, which earned him a crushed foot), and followed not long afterwards.

"Ready, Cam, ole boy?" Skip slapped Huntington on the back. The kid jumped, startled and nodded.

"Yeah, I'm good," he said finally. He went through, threw the powder down, and, in a shaky yet firm voice, shouted his destination.

Skip slapped Ron's back. "Well, Ron-o, see ya on the other side," he said.

"Save me a seat," Ron slapped back playfully.

Skip did his two-fingered wave and in a flash, he, too, was gone.

It was finally Ron's turn. He was nervous as hell, but at the same time he felt… anxious? He was finally going home. What had changed? What was still there?

_Who_ was still there?

He grabbed the Floo Powder from the bag. The guy- a New Yorker- holding it nodded.

"Don't worry," he said, "Youse guys'll get 'em."

Ron stood in the fireplace. Images of Harry, of Ginny… of Hermione… of all of them, came flooding back to him. He suddenly had a new feeling added to him- fulfillment. Finally, he could go back home. And maybe, everything would fall into place for him.

Maybe not. But who knew.

So, with one final breath, he threw the powder into the fireplace and said:

_"Ministry of Magic, London!"_

And with a final flash, he was home.

* * *

Yeah, sucky ending. Couldn't think of a better one. I'm sorry if you don't like.

Well, chapter was longer. And I think it was good. Maybe you'll think otherwise. I added a couple of new characters because they'll be good for future stories.

And a lot of different perspectives.

Ironically enough, "Rodyle" happens to be the last name of the main character in one of my other stories. I dunno why I did that one, I just felt like it.

For reference, for those who don't know: Loiselle is pronounced "Loy-zelle."

My French sucks. That could be proper French words I just wrote. It might not be. You tell me.

I'm praying to God you'll like this chapter, but if not… well, the story'll get better.

Review please.


	4. Riddles in the Dark

Chapter four up.

Damn, last chapter got a crapload of hits and so many people added the story to favorites and alerts. I haven't had a story this popular since_…_ _ever_, I don't think.

Just so we don't have it all happening the same day, I'm making this chapter takes place the day after.

Salemsoriginal99: Skip's my humor character, and the scene with him and his wife was intended for pure comedy. The "time changes everything" line- I just realized that by your comment. I'm glad you enjoyed it, and I can guarantee a Ron x Hermione encounter either next chapter or the one after.

becky whitman: I'm glad you like this story. I'm well at work.

L-Ae-D: I know many words… using them properly in a sentence is something else. I don't know why I do that, it's like, I know what the word is; I can just never use it right. Maybe I just don't know better, or I'm a moron- haven't figured it out yet. But in any case, I apologize, and I'll try to do it less often. I can't promise anything- sometimes I do it without realizing it- but I'll do my best. But I'm glad you like it, including my humor (which my friends say is bland half the time) and while Ron _is_ a moron, I at least _try_ to give him a brain.

zenon-92793: wow. I see that you do. In that case, here you go.

fanficmania101: I'll try to end this one on a better note.

ronweasleyfan5: I like it too.

Avanell: We'll see what happens next… now:

* * *

Chapter Four: Riddles in the Dark

"Miss Granger?"

Hermione snapped out of her thoughts. "Yes?"

"Is there anything else you might be able to tell us? A description of the assailant?" the Auror asked.

She sighed, "I've already told you all I know. Why must you insist on asking me all these questions?"

"It's standard procedure, m'am," he responded, "Now-"

But this time Lindsay interrupted.

"Really, this is stupid!" she exclaimed, "We've been here for the last seven hours answering all sorts of questions, like 'do you have any enemies?' or, 'is there something you're not telling us?' She's a _Healer_, for Chrissakes! Why would anybody want to hurt her?"

"We don't know, Miss Green, and that's why we're asking all these questions, so we can get a better handle on this case," the Auror glared at her.

Lindsay threw her hands in the air, giving up. Hermione just stared out the window, wondering why this was happening to her. After everything she had had to endure since she entered the wizarding world, why did she have to be burdened with one more?

Before another question could be asked, the door opened and another, younger Auror came in.

"Sir, the delegation from America just arrived on the compound. The General's in the main lobby."

-----

Ron hopped out of the Ministry van and looked around. St Mungos really hadn't changed much since the last time he had been there. Except for the fact that there were a dozen Aurors on sight.

"Weasley, DuMont," General Brownside stepped out, "You two remain out here as security. Rodyle, Loiselle, drive around the block a few times. Huntington, you're with me. We need to meet with the Auror-in-Charge here."

"Wait, why are we out here?" Ron argued angrily.

"Just do your job, Weasley," was all he got as an answer as the General and Huntington went inside.

Ron sat against the pillar. "I hate him," he said.

"Hey, forget about him, man. Ease up," said Skip, looking around, "we're in England! How often do you get to go to a foreign country?"

Pause. Ron glared at Skip, who turned to face him, realized what he had said, and gulped.

"Oh… yeah… right, sorry," he apologized.

The two sat in silence. Ron looked over towards where some of the Healers were and saw two of them loading a stretcher into a Ministry car.

A stretcher bearing a body covered in a white sheet.

"Skippy," he nudged his friend's shoulder and pointed, "look."

Skip glanced over and saw the body. "Aw, hell," he cursed.

"Come on. We'd better take a look," Ron got up and went over to the body, Skip following.

They stopped the Healers and squatted down to, yet again, pull the covers back to reveal a heavily destroyed Healer male.

"Jesus," Skip shook his head, "No matter how many times you see it, you just can't prepare yourself for the horror of it."

"It's _Deviggio_, alright," Ron put the blanket back on, "Clock's ticking."

"Yup."

Ron looked back at the building. _What_ was Brownside doing?

-----

Hermione stood up to leave. This was all becoming too much, and all she wanted to do now was go home. But just as she went for the door, she slammed into a large body.

"Oh, sorry, I-" but she stopped cold when she saw who it was… someone she had not seen since the War.

"C-Colonel Brownside," she stammered, "What are you doing here?"

"It's 'General' now," Brownside answered coldly, "and what are _you_ doing here, Miss Granger?"

"She's the one that was attacked, General," the interrogating Auror replied.

Brownside just stared at her, giving her the X-ray look she had hated back then.

"You never can stay out of trouble, can you, Miss Granger?" he asked.

Hermione felt herself go red in embarrassment. That incident rang out clear in her mind, one she would rather have forgotten. Fortunately, Lindsay spoke up for her.

"What the hell are _you_ doing here? Trying to recruit more people for a suicide mission?" she sneered.

"I'm here, Miss Green, to track down a mass murder," Brownside responded coldly, "One that I hear you've come into contact with."

"Who is he?" piped up Hermione.

"We don't know yet. But we're working on it. I've got a group of American Aurors on sight. This is one of them," Brownside inclined his head towards an Auror with messy brown hair.

"Um, hi. Cameron Huntington, m'am," the Auror extended his hand, which was in turn smacked away by the General.

"Huntington, go out and inspect the body," he ordered.

"Yes sir," Huntington scrambled out of the room. Lindsay eyed the young man eagerly.

"You've been placed under our protection, Miss Granger," Brownside said, "your roommate too."

"And these American Aurors… you believe they can save me and stop whoever this is?" Hermione asked wearily.

"I believe we'll do our best."

-----

Loiselle bobbed his head to the music coming out of the "radio" in their Ministry car. This thing was a lot of fun, even if he had no idea what he was doing. All he knew were where the keys went, which foot to stay on while driving and which to break with, and what that little stick did. He also knew accidents were bad, and so far, he avoided them.

The radio, however, was the best feature. He had no idea how someone- or in this case, group of people- could fit into that thing and sing, but he didn't care, he loved it. He drove through the streets, just bobbing his head, sometimes heavily, sometimes softly, depending on the song.

"Can you _please_ turn that down?" snapped an irritated Rodyle.

"As you wish, _mademoiselle_," he said with a grin, turning it down and ignoring the glare she shot at him, "How is it looking out there?"

She turned back out the window. "I'm watching everybody's hands," she said. "No wands out, no sudden movements, I get to go home at the end of the day."

"That goes for both of us," he rested his elbow on the window and placed his head on his hand while driving, "though I have to say, I am in more of the fighting mood."

"Men. Always looking for a fight."

"Hey, if I did not, you would be dead. Remember?"

She scoffed. "How is it every single time I make a comment about you, you shove that whole incident in Maine in my face?"

He was about to answer, but suddenly stopped, his brow hardened and he stared out her window.

"What?" she looked out to where he was looking. Nothing out of the ordinary. Except-

"Didn't the witnesses say he wore a large trench coat and a hat?" Loiselle asked.

A man fitting that description was walking down the street with his hands in his pocket.

"That's our guy!" Rodyle screamed, "Stop the car!"

"I gotta roll up the windows-"

"STOP THE CAR!!!"

Loiselle jammed on the breaks, causing them to almost hit an old wizard crossing the street with his grandkid. Both Aurors slammed out of their car and threw back an apology as they chased after their murderer.

They caught up to him just as he snuck into an old, decrepit, off-limits factory building and closed the door behind him. That didn't stop Loiselle from planting a heavy kick to the door, taking it off its hinges. Both he and Rodyle came in, wands ready.

"_Lumos_," both said. At once, a small light illuminated from the tip of their wands. The hallways were dark and damp, filled with many doors.

"Great. We've got to go door-to-door now," Loiselle muttered.

"Stop moaning," Rodyle snapped, "this place looks like it's been off-limits for years." She moved to the first door and proceeded to kick it down.

"You coming?" she asked her partner, "or is the 'Fighting Frenchman' chickening out?"

"Pfft. Please, _sherrie_, do not make me laugh," he pushed past her through the door.

Inside were large machines used for powering up the building. Row after row of engines lined the room, all looking worn with age. Above the room, a wide, rectangular window viewed down upon the scene. The two Aurors went through cautiously, using their wands to examine the machinery.

"You know, Rodyle," Loiselle said, rubbing some oil between his fingers, "I cannot help but think this equipment was up and running just yesterday."

Rodyle pressed her wand closer. He was right; this grease looked recent. Did that mean this place was still up and running? But then where was everyone?

"Keep your eyes open for anyone still alive in here," she whispered.

Loiselle nodded. He waved his wand around just to see if there was anything else in the room. The light fell upon a brown briefcase.

"Rodyle," he motioned towards it. She aimed her wand at it.

The briefcase itself was nothing special. It was small, rectangular, brown… hell, what'd you expect? But it was the fact that it was there, sitting there, all by its lonesome, that piqued their interest. An interest that it might possess some clues, as to the warehouse, what it was for, who ran it, and, by some stroke of luck, maybe belong to the killer.

Rodyle went over and picked it up. The minute she grabbed the locks, long since rusted away, broke apart and the contents came spilling out of the briefcase.

Loiselle flashed his light above the spilled papers while Rodyle read them.

"These are interesting," she said, "These are as recent as yesterday. The documents are showing plans for some sort of event coming up later this week."

"So?" he shrugged.

"So take a look at _that_."

Loiselle bent down and grabbed the edge of the paper just to tilt it towards him. The picture showed a giant machine, the height of it going past the picture frame, and the width just barely falling in the lines. There was a sinister atmosphere to it.

"What is that?" he asked.

"I dunno. A bigger question is _where _is it?" her eyes scanned the written documents, "It's not saying where it's taking place."

"Well, maybe it is just showing off a new power plant or something, I heard the Britain Ministry was looking into more of those."

"Get real, Loiselle. Whatever this machine is, it might just be connected with our killer."

Loiselle rummaged through the rest of the files until his eyes came across something and he froze.

"No, now I would say this _is_ connected with out killer," he said.

Underneath some documents were pictures of all the victims of their murderer. All after the other, all directly after they were killed. Their horrified faces as they knew what was happening to them before they never thought again. All the blood and carnage that was pouring out of the large slits and holes in their bodies. Their mangled bones protruding out of their skin, making for a hideous, grotesque sight.

Rodyle turned away. "What kind of sick maniac would do something like this?" she asked.

"_Well, I'm glad you look at me like that."_

The sudden voice came from the afore-mentioned glass window starting down into the room. Both Aurors stood and whirled around, aiming their wands up at the window.

Behind the glass, they could just make out the being of their trench-coat wearing murderer. Unfortunately, they could not make out his face, due to the distance and the hat and scarf covering his face. He spoke in a deep, sinister voice, and his eyes gleamed like hazel jewels when light bounced off of them. He waved his fingers towards them and cackled in an evil-sounding laugh. His wand was at his throat, which was how he was magnifying his voice to reach down to them.

Loiselle was about to speak up, but Rodyle pushed past him and started screaming at the man.

"WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU?" she screamed, "WHY ARE YOU DOING THIS??! _WHY??!!!!_"

The man laughed. It was a dry hollow one.

"What is the deal with these plans?" Loiselle called, holding up some documents, "What is this machine for?"

The man said nothing.

"Not talking, huh? Then how about you come down here and I will BEAT it out of you!" the Frenchman screamed.

The man only laughed again.

"_Give me what I want," _he said, _"And I _might_ just go away."_

"And what do you want?" Rodyle demanded.

"_Well…that depends on what you have to offer," _the man never gave emotion to his voice. It was flat and lifeless, with a hint of dry humor.

"Stop screwing around with us!" Rodyle screamed. Loiselle held her back from shooting a curse up there.

"Come down here and I will SHOW you some _real_ pain!" he hollered up.

"_HA!"_ the man gave a loud laugh. "_Stupid fool, I am _beyond_ your skill .Stop me if you can, but beware. You know what I want. Give it to me, or I'll kill everyone. Let this be your warning."_

Then there was a bright flash of light, and he was gone.

* * *

This ending, I like to think, is better than the last one.

A little shorter than the last one, but all in all, I think it was good.

My French sucks. As you can tell. I know no French. That might be why I took seven years of Spanish.

For the killer's voice, think _Final Fantasy VII's_ Vincent Valentine mixed with _Resident Evil 4's_ Bitores Mendez.

I like to keep the killer believable. Most people write their killer's to be talkative and loud. I don't like that. I figure, the less they talk, and with the less amount of emotion, then the more enigmatic they are. That's my belief and I hope I lived up to that, for the most part.

Next chapter- the reunion. Dun dun duuuun!

Review please!


	5. Surprise Reunion

Chapter 5.

This chapter will be short, but right at the end is the thing you've all been dying to see.

So, without further ado:

Salemsoriginal99: Here you go. The reason as to why he's killing off women will be revealed at a later date, probably in the next two or three chapters. Also, the machine will be discussed numerous times, but its true nature will only be revealed in the last couple of chapters. Stay tuned.

Weasley: this is the reunion… well, part one of it, anyway. Well… ah, you'll see.

zenon-92793: they'll reunite in this chapter.

ronweasleyfan5: Worry not. I'll stop working on this story only when it's finished. I _will_ keep it up.

L-Ae-D: Ron and Skip are a Hawkeye and Trapper duo... if you know MASH. Um… don't really know what to say about not enjoying other convos, except keep reading and maybe you'll see where it goes. Glad there were no errors.

And _now_, without further ado:

* * *

Chapter Five: Surprise Reunion

"…The body has also suffered abnormally broken bone structure in the chest cavity and the head. Internal bleeding is still going on, despite the fact that the person in question has already expired. The heart has been fractured by bone, and the lungs and liver have also been punctured, by same material," Skip wrote all this down on paper and took another glance at what used to be the male Healer.

"He couldn't have just made it a clean cut. It had to be this mangled mess," he muttered, "How's his family taking it?"

"Their son was just blown apart. How would _you_ take it?" Ron snapped angrily.

"Not well, then," Skip sighed, adding that to the report.

"God, this is pissing me off," Ron got up and began pacing the room, "We're nowhere near to ending this than we were when this thing got started! Why, oh why, can't that bloody asshole of a God just send us a hint?"

BAM! Huntington burst in, looking thoroughly excited.

"Guys! Rodyle and Loiselle just got back from patrol. They found some information that might get us a lead on the case!"

-----

"Hey, Hermione?"

Hermione looked up to Lindsay. "Yeah?"

"I'm sorry… y'know, about David."

She smiled. "Thanks," she said.

She closed her eyes. The minute she did, the scene played again in her mind. The spell whizzed past her and hit David. And then he just came apart. Blood squirted everywhere, and his bones seemed to just break apart. Even before her waking eyes, she could see his eyes, wide and lifeless, staring up at the ceiling, past the ceiling.

"Why is this happening to me?" she asked suddenly, "haven't I gone through enough?"

"I don't know, girl," Lindsay answered, "but it'll be OK."

Her roommate sighed. Lindsay looked towards the door. The Aurors had all left earlier, left them to their privacy. She grinned.

Whaddya say we get out of here?"

-----

"Where'd you find him?" asked General Brownside.

"In a warehouse, a few blocks over," Loiselle answered, "it might be his base of operations."

"We'll keep it under lockdown for the time being," the head of the British Aurors said.

"We found all sorts of documents inside. We believe something big's going down in the next couple of weeks," Rodyle added.

"Question is, what?" Skip pondered.

"We think it has something to do with this," Loiselle passed Ron and Skip the picture of the machine. The two squinted in examination.

"What is that?" asked Ron.

"I dunno," said Skip, "it's not a kind of machinery I'm familiar with."

"Is there anyone in your division that knows machines?" Brownside asked the British Auror.

"No, none," was the answer.

"I know one," Ron piped up, "Huntington."

"Yeah?"

"Can you send an owl to McAllen and get him over here?"

"I'm on it," Huntington nodded and ran off.

"Wait a minute, I thought McAllen was in Florida for the week," Skip argued.

"But he's the only one who knows this kind of field in detail," Ron explained, "if anyone can figure this thing out, it's McAllen."

"I don't want the whole division knowing about this situation, Weasley," Brownside stated firmly, "and McAllen's not the best man for keeping secrets."

"Sir, he's one of the best in the division and he's really good at his job-"

"-Despite the fact that he's an arrogant prick with an annoying attitude," Loiselle muttered.

"Alright, alright!" Brownside ended the debate, "We're on the ball as it is. We'll get McAllen on the case just as soon as he arrives. In the meantime, Rodyle, Loiselle, start examining this evidence. Weasley, DuMont, get to the holding room. You two are in charge of protecting the package."

-----

Hermione pushed through all of the reporters and photographers reporting off of the crime scene. St. Mungos had suddenly become the place to be for the best story now. People were claiming that it was the return of the Death Eaters, while others were appalled that something like this would happen to such a good boy.

"It's like a free-for-all," she said, "Not a crime scene. Honestly, isn't this ridiculous, Lindz?"

No answer. She turned around. Lindsay was nowhere in sight.

Fear suddenly took a hold of her. She was alone. Where was Lindsay? Did she just get lost amongst the crowd? Or did whoever was after her come and…

No, she couldn't think it. Lindsay probably just got held up for a cute guy. She'd meet her back at the apartment.

She kept pressing forward, but it seemed that the closer she got to the exit, the larger the crowd and the tighter the atmosphere got. She felt suffocated as she pushed through the solid mass of people.

"Excuse me… please, sir, let me through- OOF!"

She collided with a stranger that hadn't been looking her way either.

"Oh, I'm sorry," she said.

"No, my fault," the person- a male- said, "I should've been paying atten-"

She looked up to get a look at the person and she stopped dead.

He was much taller than her, he always had been. But it was the sea of red perched on his head and those deep blue eyes that she had always loved that made her realize who stood before her. It was like she had walked out of a nightmare and straight into a dream. Her eyes began to swell up with tears, and she choked out the name:

"_Ron?"_

-----

Ron and Skip re-entered the building to find it mobbed with people.

"Oh, for Chrissakes," moaned Skip, "We so don't have time for this."

He pulled out his wand to try to send red sparks into the air, but Ron stopped him.

"Whoa, Skippy, that's not gonna work," he said, "We don't want to cause a panic. Let's just… get through it," he looked at the sea of people before him.

"Fine," his partner sighed.

The work was gruesome, and resulted in Skip getting his feet crushed a total of five times. With them cursing every step of the way, they pushed through.

"God, this sucks. Coming through."

"Just hang in there, Skippy, we're almost there. Pardon me."

"Yeah, yeah, I- HEY, WATCH IT, LARD ASS!!!"

They paused for a breather. This was a mess. Ron looked around at all the people.

"You'd think the bloody circus was in town," he said, disgruntled.

"I never…," Skip panted, "Want… to do this… AGAIN!"

"Hang tough," his partner assured him, "We're almost the- OOF!"

As he had begun walking again, someone collided into him. Both staggered backwards.

"Oh, I'm sorry," the voice- a female- said.

"No, my fault," he responded, "I should've been paying atten-"

"_Ron?"_

He finally looked into her face and instantly froze up.

Standing before him was a familiar mane of now controlled brown hair. She was shorter than him- she always had been. But it was her eyes, those familiar beautiful brown eyes that he had fallen in love with and were now brimming with tears, was what really undid him. It was like he had walked out of a nightmare, and back into an old dream he had long since forgotten the feeling to. He exasperatedly chocked out a name:

"Hermione."

There was a long silence, which was broken only by Skip.

"Aaaand, _here_ is where I exit," he snapped his fingers and pointed, "Stage left."

* * *

Yeah, again- short. But I think you'll all like it.

McAllen will play a big role later in the story.

And… I think that's it.

Review please!


	6. New Problemo

Now time for chapter seven.

I'm doing this as I go, so there may be more Ron-Hermione in this chapter, or not. We shall see.

Salemsoriginal99: aye, I'm a sneaky bastard at time. Hell, that's why I'm Irish. Lol. But we'll conclude their first meeting here.

L-Ae-D: MASH person, sweet! I dunno, B.J. brings about less funnier times for the show, but I suppose Skip's more like him in regards to his family. And he looked a _lot_ better without the moustache. The second "choked" was a typo- was typing too fast at the end there, I missed it. Exasperated hit me after I posted also, because I _just_ got the definition watching _Shaun of the Dead_. My b.

flash wonder cat: When I first thought this story up, that line was one of the first lines I came up with. I'd be ashamed not to put it in. Glad it was funny, though.

SpiderQueenSkylar: Oh… would that be counted? Not sure… I thought light would just be… well… _light_. But as you can see, yeah, they meet again.

rhinopants: YES! Chills, that's a good thing, meaning this story does have some horrific scenes. With more to come, stay tuned.

juanli: Welcome aboard. I hope you enjoy the trip.

ronweasleyfan5: He's gonna give them a little space now.

hpisthegreatest: He is, isn't he? (grins) Skip's based a lot off of me, in attitude and stuff, so I guess that's a complement in two ways. But- not to get _too_ stuck-up – thank you.

ema: The ending… well, we're just gonna have to wait and see.

Gloryofthesilent: Your review was in a PM, but that's not gonna stop me from putting this up anyway. Thank you- stuff like that helps.

_Damn_, that was a lot of people.

Oh well. Aaand, onwards!

* * *

Chapter Six: New Problem-o

* * *

**When last we left off:**

_OOF!"_

_As he had begun walking again, someone collided into him. Both staggered backwards._

"_Oh, I'm sorry," the voice- a female- said._

"_No, my fault," he responded, "I should've been paying atten-"_

"Ron?_"_

_He finally looked into her face and instantly froze up._

"_Hermione."_

_There was a long silence, which was broken only by Skip._

"_Aaaand, _here_ is where I exit," he snapped his fingers and pointed, "Stage left."_

* * *

Ron was pretty caught up in staring in amazement at Hermione, so Skip was pretty sure he wouldn't have minded if he just tip-toed out of the way. Which probably would've been for the best; they looked ready to pounce on each other. 

"I can't-" Ron started.

"-Believe it," finished Hermione.

They stared at each other for a few more minutes, simply amazed. Time had finally allowed them to find each other again, and there was nothing to ruin the moment.

"Wow… what'd you do to your hair?"

Except that.

She gave a mock-annoyed laugh.

"It's called getting it _straightened, _Ronald," she replied. She had always called him by his full first name when she was annoyed.

He couldn't help but smile. Same old Hermione…

"Where have you been? Why are you here?" she grew serious now.

Ron gulped. He had always feared this part. The part where he would have to live up to his whereabouts of the last three years. Not something he relished, but it was time to live up to his name.

"I…I've been in America for the last couple of years," he answered, "Working in the Auror Division."

"America?" Hermione couldn't understand. Why did he have to be there? Why not here? Here, where his family and friends- and her- needed him?

"Why…?" But before she could ask, a thought came to her head. "America… So you're with those Aurors. The ones that here to try and find the guy who attacked me."

"Yeah, we've been on this case for weeks, but we've got no solid le-" But he stopped cold, what color there had been on his face draining quickly.

"Wait a minute… attacked… _You're _the one this bloke's after? Are you OK, what happened?" he asked, aghast.

She nodded, and a new wave of tears was coming on.

"It… it was just so sudden… he killed David, but it was me he really wanted to…"

And that was all she managed to get out before Ron threw his long arms around her small body and brought her close to him in a gigantic hug.

Hermione allowed herself to take in his scent. It had been _waaay_ too long since he had held her this close. She had almost forgotten what it felt like to be close to him again… forgotten how well his arms fit around her. For that brief moment, time had slowed down, even rewound, back to those simpler days when he held her.

"God, I'm sorry, Mione," he whispered, "I'm sorry. I should've been here."

"No, Ron, it's OK-"

"No, it isn't. and I promise you, I won't let him get you. I swear it."

She gratefully buried her face into his chest. His fingers ran through her hair, messing it up a bit, but she really didn't mind; he had seen it far worse than that.

"There you are."

Hermione picked her head up as Lindsay shoved her way through the crowded room. Ron let her go, not quickly to avert awkwardness, like what normally happened in those books and movies, but just so she could greet her friend.

"I've been looking all over for you and-oh!" Lindsay just noticed Ron, "Who's this?"

"Uh, Ron, you remember Lindsay Green, right?" Hermione asked.

"Um… vaguely," Ron answered.

"We met briefly during the War. It was before… The whole… you know, battle with Harry and…" Lindsay tried to refresh his memory.

"Oh! Oh right, the wounded girl! Right, well you're looking better than last I saw you," Ron said, as politely as he could.

"So do you," Lindsay answered, then turned to Hermione, "We need to go. Those reporters are looking all over for you."

"OK, right."

"Hermione-"

Ron had no intention of loosing her again. It already seemed like she was walking away too soon. She turned back to him.

"Meet me tonight at Fortescue's at eight. You know where that is, right?"

He grinned. "Of course. How could I forget?" he asked.

She smiled. Then, she leaned up and kissed him on the cheek and gave one last hug.

"I'm so glad you're back, Ron," she whispered.

He gratefully returned the hug.

"Yeah, love," he said, "So am I."

-----

"Old girlfriend? Seriously?" Huntington couldn't believe it.

"Yeah," Skip twirled one of his knives between his fingers. Knives were a useful tool that helped. Magic was terrific, but knives, as they had proved time and again, were a lifesaver. As he always said, "When in doubt, knives out."

"They started out as friends during their first year at Hogwarts," he continued, "In their last year, I guess they finally realized their chemistry and got together."

"How come he never told us about this?"

Skip sighed. "Because his love story is also a tragic one. Like _Romeo and Juliet_, if you know that one."

Huntington nodded, though he stared off into space.

"Wow," he said finally, "This really changes things for us, huh?"

"Yeah," the more experienced Auror sighed again, "At least, on a personal front. The only tricky part for the rest of us is trying to prevent Ron-o's future wife from buying the farm too early."

Huntington didn't answer. His brain was buzzing with all sorts of thoughts.

"Who knows about this?" he asked.

"I do, because I'm his partner," Skip counted off his fingers, "Brownside knows, because he was there at the end… and now, _you_ know, because I just told you."

As he finished this, the door opened, and Ron came in, obviously looking for someone.

_Uh-oh_ was what went through Skip's mind.

"Where's Brownside?" he asked.

"The General didn't know it was her 'til this morning, Ron-o," Skip replied, side-stepping the question.

"Where is he, Skippy?"

"(sigh) Back room with Rodyle."

"McAllen owl back yet?"

"Naw, nothing."

Ron stomped off towards the backroom. Skip slipped his knife back into its sheath and got up.

"I'm getting out of here before Ron goes flying across the room," he said.

Huntington hurriedly followed.

-----

"Why didn't you tell me?"

General Brownside looked up from his documents to see who his visitor was: Ron. He sighed.

"Rodyle, you're dismissed for the time being," he told Rodyle.

She looked at Ron quizzingly, but seeing the look in his face, she decided it was best not to ask. She gathered up her notes and quickly walked out, shutting the door behind her.

This left Ron and Brownside alone in the room. The General got up and went towards the window, arms folded behind his back.

"I thought I told you to stay with her," he said sternly.

"Why didn't you tell me it was her?" Ron demanded again.

Brownside sighed, defeated.

"If you're asking if I knew from the beginning, no, I did not," he replied, "But when I did find out, I made the decision not to tell you because I thought it best you discovered for yourself. I surmise that she was happy to see you?"

"Yeah, she was happy to see me," Ron said, not losing the anger in his voice, "Still, I would've liked a minute's warning."

"I thought I told you to stay with her, Weasley. Where is she?" asked Brownside, getting back to his original question.

"She and her roommate went back home. I'm meeting her at eight. Fortescue's."

"Be careful with her, Weasley," the General now turned to him, "Don't grow too attached. She's the key to putting this guy out of business."

"Stop treating her like a bloody object!" Ron yelled, "She's a person, who I happen to love!"

"Damn it, Weasley!" Brownside stalked over to him, getting angrier by the minute, "Do you have any idea how dangerous this is becoming? Do you not see? You're playing right into this man's trap! He knows your history with her! Who's to say he won't try and ensnare you, with this girl as the bait? Use your brain, Weasley!"

"And how would you know, Brownside?"

The look of loathing the two men gave each other could've burned up the entire room. Neither backed down. Ron was tall, but Brownside was broader. Whoever would win was anyone's guess. Finally, Brownside sat down and sighed.

"Just make sure nothing happens, Weasley," he said finally, "And I'm not talking about just an attack."

-----

"Are you sure you want to do this?"

Hermione sighed. "Lindsay, I already told you. I'll be fine," she insisted.

"I know, it's just…" Lindsay bit her lip.

"I'm worried about you, kiddo. Not everyone's in danger of being killed by a personal stalker. And now Ron's back and-"

Everything is going to be fine. Ron and I are going to enjoy ourselves."

"Hermione… it's been three years. How do you know he's the same Ron he was when he left?"

She didn't answer at first. Of course, there was no sure way to know how much he had changed. For all she knew, he had a girlfriend… or a wife. _It's Ron, _was all her mind told her. And she believed it.

"I just know, Lindz," she replied, "Regardless of years and where we've been and who we've seen, he's still Ron. That's one thing that'll never change."

Lindsay smiled. Hermione glanced at the clock.

"It's almost eight. I better get going," she took a deep breath, and then turned from the mirror to face Lindsay.

"How do I look?" she asked. Her hair was a little wavy, and she had make-up on. Just a little. Lindsay nodded approvingly.

"I think you look ready to go see him," she replied.

Hermione smiled and went to hug her friend.

"Thanks so much, Lindz," she said.

"Knock him dead, kiddo."

And with an Apparation, she left for her meeting.

-----

"_Wow. You sure?"_

"_Positive. The girl and the Auror are connected."_

"_Goddam… whaddya think we should do, then?"_

"_This changes things .I had originally planned to kill the girl, just to lure him to The Point. But now… she may yet be of some more use to us…"_

"_You're not gonna kill her?"_

"_Oh, I'll still kill her… I just don't know if I want to kill her right away, or not…"_

"_Why don't we just kill that damn Auror and be done with it?"_

"_NO! Weasley is everything in these plans. I need him to be there."_

"_I'm not talking about Weasley. I'm talking about the other one. The other one who was there."_

"_Oh… him. Do as you wish. Think twice before you do it, though."_

"_You _will _kill him, right?"_

"_If it comes to it- yes."_

"_And Weasley?"_

"_Well… if he's not dead by the end… I'll put him in a position where he just won't care anymore…"_

"_And that's where Granger comes in, right?"_

"_Do you expect me to explain everything again? How about you use your own brain for once? If you have one…"_

"_Sorry."_

"… _If I can just keep them guessing until it's ready… then that's all the time I'll need."_

* * *

Another cliffy. Another barrage of reviews screaming to me at the top of their lungs about how they want Ron and Hermione to be together. 

Next chapter, I swear it.

Review please.


	7. Catching Up

This is chap. 7. I accidentally wrote that last one was at the beginning.

I just wanna say something: as of this last chapter, and at 33 reviews and at 1833 hits, _Crawling Under The Surface _is my second-best story on this site, with my first best story having 71 reviews and almost 6000 hits.

I'm surprised. First, I thought I would never have a story as popular as the afore-mentioned one. After I finished, I thought, "Well, there goes the good days of popularity." But I'm shocked- this story's getting there.

Which gets me to point two: When I first did this, I just thought it as a random story. I never thought it would be enjoyed this much. Now, I'm glad I did it.

Let's see if we can beat that record, eh?

Well, anyway: This chapter is all Ron/Hermione. Nothing more, nothing less. Well, not them making out or anything just yet. But this is it; no diversions, no other characters, no sub-plots. Just straight-out fluff between the two of them... well, no… I dunno. Just read.

Now, I'm not the best with romance. I'm really not. I feel awkward expressing feelings in _reality_, so you can imagine how I am writing it. I'll do my best, though, so hopefully, you'll enjoy what I put. And if not… well, at least I can say I tried.

Salemsoriginal99: I've been called a lot of things by my friends (a lot of them weren't too friendly) but rarely am I known to be good with comedy amongst them. It's been a while since I've been told I'm funny, so this helps. Thanks!

charma10: This chapter focuses solely on Ron and Hermione. So no more wait. Well, for the true love bit, yeah, still awhile, but this is just a cute lil' fluffy thingy. You spelt _Deviggio_ right, no worries. You think you'd get nightmares from it now, wait 'til later.

L-Ae-D: I've been into MASH about three or four years now. I've seen a majority of the episodes, have met someone that looks and acts amazingly like Radar, and am widely influenced by Hawkeye and his quirks. But anyway, thanks for the help in pronunciation, and I hope you do/did well on your exams.

rhinopants: This chapter's gonna be a thing between them. Not _necessarily_ getting together again, cause that would kinda resolve the story early, and there has to be a fight between them first (c'mon- it's Ron and Hermione we're talking about here.). But this basically begins it.

juanli: Portuguese is cool. How many chapters… not sure yet. Sometimes, when I do rough drafts, I do chapters out of order, so I take a shot in the dark about which chapter I wanna be where. But as to how many there will be, no clue. This could hit 20, go above, or stay below. We shall see. And at first, Ron _kinda_ obeys Brownside… well, you'll see.

And now, without further ado:

* * *

Chapter Seven: Catching Up

Hermione waited outside Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlor, nervously drumming her fingers together. She glanced at her watch. Five past eight. She exhaled impatiently. Where _was_ he? He was late.

"Wow."

She turned around. And there he was, looking as untidy as he always did, yet amazed to see her.

"You look beautiful," he said to her finally.

She felt herself soar, but her stubbornness, having not changed at all since school, got in the way of that.

"You're late," was what she said instead.

He smiled, "Yeah, sorry. Skippy's fault." God, she looked beautiful. She looked even better than she had all those years ago.

"Your partner?"

"Yeah."

They stood in silence for a few seconds. Then he motioned for her to sit down.

"Well, shall we?" he asked.

"Oh! Yes, of course."

They sat down opposite each other. Somehow, she couldn't help but think back to third year, when the two of them had sat outside the parlor, sitting and laughing and talking right until Harry had shown up.

That seemed like a million years ago now.

"So, 'Mione," he interrupted her thoughts, "How've you been?"

"I've been good," she half-lied; she had been fine, but she had also been… empty. "It's been a bit lonely with all of you gone but I've managed."

"Same on my end. Guys I work with are good company, though. Lindsay seems nice."

"She's… ditzy, half the time. But she's a good friend."

"That's good."

There was a collective pause. It was incredible. Half the time, when they had been at school, you could never get those two to shut up, what with all their yelling at each other and frequent rows. They almost always had something to say to each other, good or bad.

"So, when did you meet Skip?" she asked.

"Oh, um, 'bout the time I came to America. I was assigned to work this bank robbery with him. Place over there, nothing like Gringotts. So, me and Skippy were working it. My first successful case. We've been working together ever since."

"What's he like?"

"Sarcastic as hell, but a good sense of humor. He's married. Couple kids, plus another on the way."

"No need to swear, Ronald."

"Yes, _Mum_."

Hermione giggled.

This was more like it. Just like old times. Soon, they were getting into the swing of things, talking about this and that, just feeling like they used to.

"I can't believe they shut Hogwarts down!" Ron cried, dismayed.

"The architecture was just on the brink of collapse. They had to re-locate the whole thing," Hermione shook her head.

"But there were so many memories in that castle! The paintings, the suits of armor… did the ghosts go with them?" he asked.

"No, a lot of them stayed in the castle," was her response, "So did Sir Cadogan, and a lot of the suits."

"That's just not fair."

"Stuff changes, Ron."

"…Yeah, I know."

They stopped for a little bit. Then Ron got another idea.

"Hows about we head over to the Leaky Cauldron for a drink?" he proposed.

"Um, OK," she shrugged.

He got up, went over to the other end of the table, and extended his hand. She smiled at the gesture and graciously took it.

They walked hand in hand towards the Leaky Cauldron. Hermione couldn't be happier. He was home, after three years abroad. And they were on a date… if it could be called that. she wasn't all entirely sure what it was. She supposed she could just call it "catching up."

Once inside the Leaky Cauldron, Ron sat her down at the bar. "Wait here," he said, then went to the bar to get their drinks.

Hermione looked around. The usual faces accompanied with their usual seats and drinks populated the room. Looking back, she realized that it was rare for a new person to come here. It was always the same crowd, down to the silent old woman that drank in the corner. It gave her that homey feeling, that she knew everyone and thus could feel comfortable around them.

Which, during this time and place, was a real comfort for her.

"Here." Ron had come back, and placed her Firewhiskey in front of her, then sat down.

"Thanks," she took a small sip. This was not her drink of choice. But she would live just one night.

They allowed the noise of the bar to fill the silence that Fortescue's had been suppliant of.

"How's my family doing?" Ron finally asked.

"OK. Fred and George are doing wonders with their shop, but you probably already guessed that-"

"Yeah, they have an American branch in New York."

"Bill and Charlie are growing big families; Charlie's got six kids now."

"Whoa."

Your mum and dad are doing fine. Your dad's the Minister now."

"Yeah, I heard. Mum sent an owl."

They took a brief pause, just to take a breather.

"… Did you hear about Ginny?"

"… Yeah… France, huh?"

"We all miss her."

"I'll bet. But I figure, as long as she doesn't meet Loiselle, she'll be fine."

Hermione frowned. "Who's Loiselle?"

"He's one of the guys on my team. Real womanizer."

She nodded. Ron took a sip of his drink and leaned forward.

"Look, Hermione," he whispered (forcing her to lean in), "Since you're gonna be around us twenty-four/seven, I might as well give you the call-signs. You know Brownside outside and in by now, literally. Skip, you saw, but he's the one with the glasses. Rodyle's the only girl in the group- unless you count Cam (little snort) - she's blonde, not in the dumb way, and really strict, so watch out. Loiselle's the one with short brown hair and a French accent. He goes for any woman he can, married or not. Just a heads up. And then there's Huntington, who-"

"I already met Huntington. He's the one with the wild hair, right?" she asked.

He nodded and leaned back.

"We've got another one coming in also. McAllen. He's a bit of a wild card, but I couldn't ask for a better mate for this kind of job."

She nodded again, and then just went silent. He then noticed a change in her eyes; they all of a sudden seemed colder, haunted almost. Like she was reliving a bad memory or something.

"So… what exactly _is_ Brownside doing here?" she asked, her voice sharper and more serious.

He sighed. "Honestly?" he asked, "I have no idea. He showed up a couple days ago and started running the case. He's the one who got me and Skippy on it, despite the fact that we're not supposed to be on duty this week."

"I don't like him around here, Ron. It brings back too many memories."

" Yeah… I know what you mean."

They took a break to have some of their drink. Then, she asked the question that she had been dying to ask since he had got back:

"Why did you leave, Ron?"

He stared intently at the bottle in front of him, suddenly fascinated with it. He didn't answer.

"Ron," she repeated, seriousness deadly, "you left me in the middle of the night with nothing but a three-sentenced note on your pillow. You haven't said a word to me in three years. I deserve an explanation. Please."

He looked up at her and saw tears yet again forming in her eyes. Angry, yet sad tears. He was seeing, fully, the damage he had done.

"… I did for you, Hermione," he said. "I did some stuff during the war… things I'm not proud of. How could I be good enough for you with that on my chest? I'd be an awful father-"

"Ronald Weasley, don't you even think that! It doesn't matter what you did, I would still love you!" Hermione blurted out.

As she said that, the noise died down for a second, so just about everyone in the room heard her shout that. Glowing red, Hermione waited until the fifty or so pairs of eyes left her before she continued.

"If you really felt bad about it, you could've talked to me about it, instead of holding all up inside of you and then taking off."

"I'm sorry, OK?" Ron snapped, getting a little angry now, "I just… know what, forget it. We're here to have a good time, so let's just have a good time. So what's being a Healer like, 'Mione?"

"Ron," she wasn't going to budge. "For three years, I've been going through life as a slave to routine, wondering what I did wrong. You left, and I felt like a part of me died. I missed you, Ron."

Ron sighed.

"I missed you too," he said, "but… I can't go back to doing that. Not now."

"What do you mean?" she asked, dreading the answer.

"…I can't start thinking of going back into a relationship right now. If this guy finds out we're involved that way… he could hurt you. And I wouldn't be able to live with myself if I did," he looked up at her apologetically.

Her look, however, was that of instant K.O. in a Muggle fighting game.

"Is this you talking, or is it Brownside?" she asked coldly.

He took awhile thinking the question through, before answering, "It's just best."

The tears from earlier were now streaming down her face. He had come back, but he couldn't be with her. After all the years she had had feelings for him, he couldn't. _Wouldn't_. And that hurt worse than knowing she was at the top of Britain's No. 1 Most Wanted felon's kill list. She abruptly stood up.

"Well, I think I should be getting home now-"

"'Mione, wait-"

"I need to get to bed, I'm exhausted and-"

She never finished her sentence, for before she made it to the door, he grabbed her, spun her around, and pressed his mouth firmly against hers and locked.

Startled at first, she soon fell back into the once familiar tingling she got whenever she kissed him. She was lost now in eternal bliss and happiness. She almost deepened it further than it was already getting, but she remembered she was supposed to feel surprised, so she didn't.

Ron couldn't believe it; he was kissing Hermione Granger again. It was a bittersweet moment. Sweet that it was happening, and bitter that it couldn't keep happening or someone would be screwed. That was the story of their lives.

But it was just so good… it basically told each other what words could not; that their love still existed, even if the words could not be said. Screw Brownside or whoever else said no… they'd go along with them for now.

But not forever.

* * *

Someone said, it's not the matter of how long it is, but how good it is.

I dunno, way I see it, if I can keep it going for more than three pages, I must be doing _something _right.

I hope this is good enough for you guys. I gave you a bonus for the ending. Wasn't planning on ending it like that, but then I decided, you know what, screw it, just enjoy where the story leads you.

We shall see.

Review please.


	8. Operation: Screw Up

Chapter 8 is up.

Now, this chapter gets the story rolling. Now, they're gonna try to trap this guy into their clutches, and end this so they can go home, and so Ron and Hermione can get three years of repressed love out of their systems.

…… yeeeah.

I'm not happy with this chapter. Took me several drafts before I came up with one that was _somewhat_ acceptable. It's still not the best. Maybe you'll think otherwise.

L-Ae-D: Ooh, sorry 'bout exams. That sentence _was_ missing a word; I can't believe my computer didn't even point it out. And… aftermath of the kiss will be seen now.

zenon-92793: I'm glad you liked it. Here you go.

ema: I'm glad you enjoyed it as well.

ronweasleyfan5: I guess Ron had good anger in that one, I dunno. Could've been better. But thanks for the review.

Pixies123: I'm glad you enjoyed this. Good luck on your story. Take your time; it makes for a long, enjoyable story. Though I speed sometimes, but still, slow and steady wins the race, or whatever the hell they say.

Salemsoriginal99: There will be even more insight later on. Towards the end, they'll be about two-three chapters dedicated to finding out what happened and all that. But in the meantime, enjoy this:

* * *

Chapter Eight: Operation: Screw-Up

"Is everybody here?"

"_Oui_, General."

"Huntington, take notes."

"Yes sir."

Ron stared at the map. He felt like he was back in the war, with one of Brownside's crazy, yet well-worth-the-risk plans. Well, OK, the last bit was still there, but it wasn't the war and much had changed. Especially from last night.

After last night's little "date", Hermione went home, probably as confused as he was. He knew he shouldn't, but… were they together again now? No, she knew they couldn't be. But at least she knew it was there…

"Weasley, pay attention."

General Brownside's voice snapped Ron back into the plan. "Sorry, sir," he muttered.

Brownside held his glare as he continued.

"At 1015 hours, we will proceed to Avalon's Park," he pointed to a spot on the map. "Upon arrival, I will situate you all in partner positions overlooking here," he pointed to a little mound, "where the girl will wait. If all goes according to plan, we should be able to stop him before he does any damage."

"This is seriously the best plan we could come up with?" Skip asked skeptically.

"Is there a problem, DuMont?" Brownside shifted his glare to the other Auror.

"Well, no… if we were five-year-olds waiting to capture the Easter Bunny or something," Skip added, "I mean, sir, this… _plan_, for lack of a better word, is the oldest trick in the book. It's like we're using lettuce to trap a skunk in a cage. Only the skunk is smart enough to find a loophole and spray us with its stink."

"Skippy has a point. The plan _is_ kind of flawed," agreed Loiselle.

"Listen to me: I used this plan during the battle at Longsfield Marshes. We captured fifteen Death Eaters that day, amongst them Fenrir Greyback the werewolf. So don't tell me this plan doesn't work, because it can!" the General hollered at all of them, causing all but Ron to shrink a little.

"And how many of your men were killed in the process?" Ron asked.

If Brownside had been mad before, now he was seething. But when he spoke again, his voice was calm and controlled.

"DuMont, Rodyle, Loiselle, go get prepped and ready to go. I need to have a talk with Weasley," he growled.

Rodyle and Loiselle hurriedly got up off their perches and hurried out of the room. Skip looked at Ron, who looked back. He shrugged, half-grinning. Ron did the same, also half-grinning. Then Skip did his little two-fingered wave and left, closing the door behind him.

This left Ron, Brownside, and Huntington alone in the room, with the last one praying he could leave as well. But the General did not dismiss him. Instead, he did his usual "go to the window and stare out it with your hands behind your back" thing.

"You could at least _try_ to act like you're under my command, Weasley," he said, his voice low and deadly.

"Why, so I can turn into one of your glory boys? The ones that got the medals, only they were shipped to their families instead of them?" Ron said with his own glare.

"Weasley, you really need to understand the simple factor: in a war, there are casualties, whether you want them to happen or not."

"Yeah, I understand that. But what I don't understand is why I'm hearing this from the man whose regiment suffered the highest casualty limit in the course of the war."

Brownside whirled around. "Every casualty we took resulted in a load of casualties for the other side as well. I did everything I could've done in that situation, and I did it right!"

"Yeah, well, that still won't bring Neville Longbottom home, now, will it?" Ron snapped back.

Huntington was really wishing he could leave now. Ron was surely getting on the General's last nerve. True, he had been on it since the very beginning, but now it was taking its toll. Brownside was getting seriously annoyed.

"Get out of my sight," he snarled angrily.

Ron didn't need telling twice. He turned around and stomped off, slamming the door as he left. Huntington exhaled. He hadn't even realized he had been holding his breath.

"Huntington." Brownside's voice snapped him back to attention.

"Sir?"

"Has McAllen owled back yet?"

"No, sir."

"Well, where the hell is he?"

"Don't know, sir."

"You let me know when he gets here."

"Yes sir."

Brownside shoved past him, knocking over the coffee mug in Huntington's hand and pouring coffee down his shirt. Huntington tried cooling it down and then using a Vanishing spell, then glared in Brownside's retreating backside.

"Grouch."

-----

Hermione and Lindsay approached the two-story building where the Auror team had set up their base of operations. It was an old Muggle flat that had long since been abandoned, but after reading the address on the paper, it appeared to still serve as ideal living and working conditions. Brownside was the Secret-Keeper, so they could have all the freedom and secrecy they wanted.

Hermione was kind of nervous. And Lindsay continually asking questions about the previous night didn't help matters.

"So, wait, he _kissed_ you? Like, a little peck on the cheek, or was their actual tongue involved?" Lindsay asked.

"Lindz!" Hermione yelped, smacking her friends' arm, "It was nothing like what you've done with every guy you've ever made out with."

"Then what _was_ it like, damn it?"

"It was… oh, I don't know," she sighed, "It was just one of those things where it happens, and then it's over and you don't know what to think."

"I had that once at primary school… I think his name was Larry."

"What, lose count?"

They knocked on the door. A slide door opened, and a pair of eyes looked out at them, recognized them, and then slid the slide door shut. A couple minutes later, the door opened, and the Auror- Huntington- stepped out.

"Hey, c'mon in," he greeted, stepping aside.

Hermione thanked him and proceeded inside. Lindsay came in, but stopped and smiled flirtatiously at the Auror.

"Hey there," she winked.

Huntington gulped, "Uh… hi."

She brought her finger to his chest and dragged it slightly across. He tried his best to keep in check.

"Y'know," she said, "You're kinda cute."

"Lindsay, let's go," Hermione called to her.

Lindsay winked at Huntington. "See ya around."

As she walked off, he watched her leave, then looked down and got even more flustered.

Hermione and Lindsay entered what had used to be a living room. Tables with maps and large equipment now littered it, turning it into something else. A tall man with light brown hair who Hermione guessed to be Loiselle was already staring intently at Lindsay. A tall blonde woman- probably Rodyle- was examining the maps, not even looking up to acknowledge them. Huntington re-appeared, calmed down, and went and got himself a cup of coffee.

"Hey there."

A voice to her right made Hermione turn. The Auror that had been with Ron at the hospital yesterday was sitting there. Apparently, he had been engrossed in a letter, for he had a pencil in his hand and paper in front of him, He stood up.

"Will DuMont," he extended his hand, "We never really were properly introduced at yesterday's encounter. And you must be Miss Hermione Granger."

"Yes, thank you…Skip?" she asked him.

"Ah. Ron-o's already filled you in on me, eh?" Skip grinned, "Well, whatever he's said, I heartily deny it."

"It was good stuff," she insisted.

"Oh, well, in that case, it's all true."

"Hi," Lindsay extended her hand, "I'm Lindsay Green and we've never met."

"Pleased to meet you both," Skip shook her hand, "Oh, and before I forget-"

Before either girl knew it, they had a picture of Skip, a woman, and two little girls shoved into their faces.

"These are my adorable little daughters! The big one's Jenny, the little one's Lily. Whaddya think, aren't they the cutest?" Skip talked as if randomly showing strangers a picture of his family was the most common thing in the world.

"Um…" The two girls glanced at each other, both thinking the same thing: _Is this guy mental?_

"Heh. I know, you're too touched to speak. It's alright," he shoved the picture back into his coat pocket. He stared back up at Hermione. _So this is the girl he never shuts up about…_

"Ron's talked about you a lot."

She felt her spirits soar. "He has?"

"A few things here and there, and I pick a few other things up through the grapevine."

"Alright, men, stand up."

Both females turned and instantly glared. Old "Iron Guts" Brownside, their old "friend" from the war days. He glared back at them, really not caring in the slightest.

"Gentlemen-"

"Ahem," Rodyle cleared her throat.

"-and lady, as you can obviously see, we have two visitors amongst us. Miss Granger and Miss Green, who will be helping us with our case."

Rodyle and Loiselle gave them nods and a little wave. Skip and Huntington nodded again. Lindsay waved a little wave at Huntington, who again felt his composure going out the window.

"So are we ready?" Brownside asked.

"Yeah, sir, we're good to go," said Skip.

"Then get in the van. Move, people."

The Aurors got up and began filing out, confusing the civilian women.

"Wait, wha-?"

"We'll fill you in on the ride over," Skip assured her, and he, too, left.

"Hey."

Hermione turned around yet again and found Ron mere inches from her. She felt the familiar tingle.

"Hi," she gasped.

"Aaaand mushiness, in three…two…one… good-bye," said Lindsay, waving good-bye and following the other Aurors to the van, leaving the two all alone.

There was an awkward silence that followed.

"Listen, Ron," Hermione started, "About last night-"

"Hermione…" Ron interrupted, "I think… it'd be best if we talked about this later."

"…Oh…Yeah, I suppose…"

"Look, it's not that I-"

"It's OK, Ron. I suppose now really isn't the best time, is it?"

"No, it's-"

"Ron-o! Let's move!" Skip's voice shouted back in.

"We'll talk about it later," Ron finished the conversation, leaving her and joining the others.

Hermione followed not too long after, feeling somewhat disappointed.

-----

_Who's the idiot who thought of this stupid plan? Yeah, really great idea, moron, just leave me standing out here in the pouring rain waiting for a murderer. Thanks for nothing._

Hermione cursed inwardly as she shivered in the pouring rain, waiting for either her inevitable doom or her saving grace.

From the bushes a few feet away, Ron and Skip squatted, wands ready. Skip shook with cold. And being "cold blooded" as he was, it was the worst of times for him.

"Remind me again why we couldn't have waited in the van?" he asked miserably.

"Because I want to be as close as possible to be able to get him," answered Ron.

"...sooo, why couldn't we have just pulled the van over closer?"

His partner glared at him.

"I didn't ask you to come out here with me, Skippy," he stated.

"What, and let you have all the glory? No thanks. Besides, without me, you'd trip over your two left feet."

"Shut up."

Skip looked up towards the sky. "Anytime the sun wants to come out would be just dandy with me," he said.

"_Weasley, DuMont, come in."_

Brownside's voice came in over the magical headset the Aurors wore. The headsets were a little concoction that McAllen had whipped up about a year ago. They were the communication devices used by Muggle Special Forces units magically amplified to be allowed usage in places where Muggle technology didn't work, like Hogwarts.

"_How's everything in your area?" _Brownside asked.

"All good," said Ron.

"And wet," muttered Skip.

"_Rodyle, Loiselle, status report."_

"_This is Rodyle, all clear from the van."_

From the coziness of the van, Rodyle and Loiselle were nice and snug compared to their two comrades out on the pitch. Loiselle flashed the signal mirror to them, a code they had come up with if anything happened. Ron flashed back, saying no, nothing was wrong.

Loiselle sighed, "Oh, you know, Rodyle," he said, "This would be so _boring_," he turned to face her, a devious smile on his face, "Were it not for my beautiful partner."

Rodyle, eyes closed in an attempt to catch up on her sleep, couldn't help but smirk.

"You never give up, do you?" she asked.

"Not if I have a chance."

"You think you _actually_ have a chance with me?"

"Um, excuse me?"

Both Aurors turned to the back, where Lindsay was sitting, having to listen to the friendly banter.

"I really don't wanna hear you two flirting right now, OK?" she snapped.

"_Keep your heads up, you two. Stay on the ball."_

From their own little perch under a giant oak tree, Brownside, despite the rain that fell upon his bald head, stood as stiff and sturdy as the tree next to him. Huntington, on the other hand, was another story.

"Sir, w-why couldn't _we _have s-stayed in the v-van?" he stammered and shivered. His remark earned him a cold, hard glare, which instantly shut him up.

It was really starting to get cold now. Hermione wished she could've at least been allowed to put on the charm she had used on Harry during the Quidditch match in third year. Unfortunately, Brownside had forbidden magic for what he called "obvious reasons." The only reason _she_ could see was he _wanted_ her to be a damsel in distress.

And that she felt, shivering to the bone, her clothes soaked, her wet hair dripping down her back. She hated Brownside so much right now, but felt more hatred towards whoever was after her. Out of all the women in England he had to kill from, why did it have to be her? She must've asked that question a million times over the last two days. And they were nowhere near the answer.

The only reason she stayed was because she knew, if anything were to go wrong, Ron would be there. She knew she would pummel the man mercilessly if he so much as touched her. That was how he had always been towards anyone who had ever threatened her, and she doubted that would ever change. That's what had made him such a good friend over the years.

That was why she loved him.

With him around, she felt safe.

-----

"_They've got a trap for me. How juvenile."_

"_You gonna give them a visit?"_

"_No… send the men."_

"_Ooh, that'll be a bitching fight."_

"_Because entertainment is getting _so_ much harder to come by these days…"_

"_Want me to go?"_

"_Sure… but Flint?"_

"_Yeah?"_

"_I want the girl… alive."_

-----

"Oh, _please_! Catherine Zeta-Jones wouldn't _spit_ on you, let alone go out with you!" Rodyle exclaimed.

"Why not? I'm just what she needs," said Loiselle.

"For starters, she's married-"

"Yeah, to an eighty-year-old."

"-Second of all, you're _sooo_ not worth the time or the hassle of going out with!"

"I resent that. Your sister seemed to enjoy me."

"Don't even go-"

Suddenly, she stopped and just looked straight ahead past him.

"Is… that a truck?" she asked.

Loiselle turned his head. Sure enough, a large supply truck entered the park, driving right up to where they are.

"I thought this area was off-limits," he said.

"It is," she replied.

Ron and Skip were continuing to shiver in the rain when they heard Rodyle come in over their link.

"_We've got a truck in the park."_

"What?" said Skip, looking at Ron, both with a horrified expression.

"Oh no," said Ron.

Hermione heard the roar of the truck's engine and turned around just in time to see it park a few feet away. Already, she could feel herself growing colder. It got even worse when she saw ten to twelve wizards hop out, brandishing cruel looking wands and sharp, jagged knives.

Any idiot right then could tell they weren't here for tea time. And Hermione, as we all know, was no idiot.

"_We've got trouble! Everybody, up and at 'em! Don't let them take her!"_

Rodyle and Loiselle burst out of the truck, wands at the ready. Ron shot out of the bushed instantly while Skip stood up and aimed his wand.

"_Expelliarmus!" _

The spell hit one wizard, sending him flying backwards. The others saw this as grounds for attack and all those who had wands raised them as Ron reached Hermione.

"GET DOWN!" he shouted, pushing her to the ground.

"_AVADA KEDAVRA!"_

About seven beams of green light shot over their heads towards the bushes. Skip rolled just in time and shot a Jelly-Legs jinx, which missed.

Rodyle and Loiselle were on the scene as soon as the curses were fired.

"_Reducto!"_

"_Impedimenta!"_

Their shots were well aimed, hitting two of the wand holders, while the other ones fired more Killing Curses over Ron's and Hermione's heads. Ron fired a Disarming Charm at another one.

"HERMIONE, RUN!" he screamed.

"But-" Hermione froze up. She wasn't about to just leave him here, where he might get himself killed.

"MIONE, GO, FOR GODSSAKES!"

One of the knife men chose this time to bypass Ron and go straight for Hermione. Ron, in a snap judgment that required very little thought, jumped in and, without wand, grabbed the man and snapped his neck in half. Hermione covered her mouth as the dark wizard fell limply to the ground.

_For one brief moment, she and he made eye contact. It was here that she saw the change; colder, darker somewhat, filled with some burning rage but not towards her. However used to Ron's temper she thought she was, she was completely caught off guard by this new glare that he had. In that instant, she began to understand what he had meant- why he had left… what had happened during his time in the war…_

"thunk!"

One of the bad wizards hollered in pain as the knife cut into his arm. Ron and Hermione both snapped out of their trance as Skip ran up, grabbed his knife, and spun and kicked the opponent to the ground. He flipped his knife in the air and smirked.

"When in doubt, knives out," he said, grabbing it by the handle and stuffing it back into its sheath.

Rodyle and Loiselle were finishing up the last of the assailants. Rodyle was using all the close-quarter combat tricks she knew, including the dreaded "Butterfly Kick." Loiselle was skillfully avoiding the enemy's knives and jabbing his elbow into their faces, occasionally breaking their noses.

From the shadows, one of the wizards watched his comrades getting the crap beaten out of them. He gulped.

"I guess now it's time for me to leave," he said, "Oh, he won't be pleased."

He heard a sudden rustling from the bushes. He jerked his head to the left, suddenly scared. He fell back and began running through the woods, tripping over tree roots and plunging through bushes.

_Almost there_, he thought to himself, _I'm almost to a point where I can Apparate. Just a little-_

BAM!

A metal-gloved fist popped out from behind a tree and smashed right into his face, breaking his nose in three. He fell back, blood squirting out in spurts down his face.

Brownside and Huntington stood over him, their wands pointed at him. Both looked down at him, Huntington expressionless, Brownside with a cold, cruel glare. The dark wizard looked up at both of them. His face paled and his insides grew cold.

"No…" he said, pleadingly, "No, wait! Please! I'm sorry! I won't fail next time, don't-"

"_Deviggio."_

And there was an ear-shattering scream and the sound of a pumpkin hitting the ground and smashing open.

-----

Ron heard the screaming coming from the woods. Directly from the General's area.

"Skippy, on me," he said, not giving it a second thought.

The two Aurors left in a hurry, leaving Hermione with Rodyle and Loiselle. Lindsay ran up from the van to her best friend.

"Are you OK? Jesus Christ, what the hell is wrong with these people?" she demanded, looking at the unconscious and moaning captives.

"Yeah," Hermione said softly, "Yeah, I'm alright…"

But her mind was on the look Ron had given her.

Ron and Skip dashed through the woods, hopping over everything whoever had come through here earlier had tripped over. Was it Brownside who had screamed? Or Huntington? They threw aside a brush and-

The dark wizard was blown all to hell and back again, blood pouring out of every orifice of his body, a look of sheer terror on his face. And standing over him, covered in blood, was General Brownside.

"Sir, what the hell did you do?" Skip asked.

Brownside didn't answer. He and Ron's eyes were fixed upon one another. Both gave each other their respective glares, but this was different. Brownside looked half-out of his mind. Without a word, he pushed past his two subordinates and marched off.

"Shit, guys, you should've seen it!" Huntington exclaimed, also covered in blood, "Brownside was cool as hell, just muttered that spell and sent him high as a kite! God _damn_, can you believe that-?"

But Ron wasn't paying the slightest bit of attention to him. His eyes were glued, ever so suspiciously, to Brownside's retreating form.

* * *

Sorry it took so long.

Still not too happy with this chapter, but I guess it'll do.

Reviews help.


	9. The Plot Thickens

Chapter Nine.

Sorry this took so long to post, but I really wanted this chapter to be perfect, or somewhere near it, and I think this one finally accomplished that.

ako: I enjoy the ship too. I see a lot of myself and this girl I used to like in it. Glad you enjoy it.

charma10: plot will only get thicker. I'm glad you thought it didn't suck. I just thought it seemed too bland in some places; Brownside kinda seemed unrealistic during the whole planning sequence; and I could've made the Ron/Hermione converse at the beginning a _hell_ of a lot better. That's just me.

L-Ae-D: yeowch, I really butchered that one, huh? I don't mind how long it is, if it improves my writing in the future, I'll take it. All of those were unintentional (did I really say "in" there? God damn it to Hell…) except for the last one, I really did mean three. You hear all those things about getting broken in two, so I thought, hey, why not in three? Kinda a joke, I dunno.

Salemsoriginal99: Oh, they'll _talk_ alright. _Heh heh heh_…

* * *

Chapter Nine: The Plot Thickens

The door burst open and the Auror team and the civilians stomped in, wet, tired, hungry, and somewhat defeated.

"Well, boys and girls, what did we learn today?" asked Skip.

"'Do not plan operations when it is raining?'" asked Loiselle.

"Close, but no cigar."

"'Always be prepared for a full-front assault?'" Rodyle chimed in.

"Good, but not what I'm talking about."

"'Brownside delivers one bitching sucker punch?'" Huntington delivered.

"Nowhere near," Skip shook his head, "The lesson here today, my friends, is this: 'Even the worst-plan attacks can kick crap up in your face'."

"What the hell kind of lesson is that?" demanded Rodyle.

"Wasn't really, but I'm running out of helpful little blurbs, so I'm making them up as I go," Skip replied with his usual smirk, "Basically, it was my way of saying 'I told you so' over that whole ordeal."

"I would advise you, DuMont," General Brownside said in a dark voice, "To ease up on the wisecracks. It's only going to give you a very bad night on duty."

Skip took the hint and settled down. Brownside had hardly said a word since they had found him in the woods, and he didn't appear to be in a jovial mood. Not like he was, anyway. But even Skip wasn't stupid enough to press matters further.

Ron was, however.

"What just happened back there, General?" he asked, as calmly as he could, though Hermione could see his hands were shaking.

Brownside refused to answer him. Instead, he brushed past Huntington and Loiselle and into the next room, hoping to avoid his angry subordinate's questions. Ron was too persistent, however. He brushed past his friends as well and closed the door behind him, leaving it to just him and the General.

"Brownside," he came in firmly, "What happened?"

"If you're going to speak to me, I insist that you refer to me as 'general'-" Brownside was interrupted by an angry Ron.

"Don't try to change the subject with that crap," he spat, "You just killed that man with an Unforgivable. And not just any Unforgivable, the Unforgivable used by the man we're currently hunting. Why?"

"I don't have to answer to you, Weasley," the General made to move out to another room, but Ron grabbed his arm.

"Why?" he demanded. "Why don't you? Is it because you don't want to live up to the truth? Is it because you don't want to think about how you tore that boy to pieces? Or is it something else? Is it because you just want to forget about it in the hopes that maybe you could simply cover up your tracks?"

"No, it's because I don't _have_ to!" Brownside broke out of the grip, grabbed Ron by the scruff of his shirt, and slammed him against the wall, snarling into his face, "I am your superior, and you are my subordinate, and as such, I do not take orders from you, nor does anything I do have to be answered to by you, do you understand me?"

Ron didn't answer. He just stared at Brownside's slightly deranged, hateful eyes, and he felt all the hatred towards this man coming out, all the years of pent-up aggression ready to come loose. But he didn't swing. The General dropped him and stormed out of the room and on to his own.

He needed to get out of there. He needed to get out of that headquarters and just go blow off some steam. He didn't care where, or for how long. He just needed to leave.

So he grabbed his coat and brushed past Skip, who was trying to inquire what that whole ordeal was all about, and was at the door when-

"Ron."

Hermione's voice stopped him. She was standing in the corner, nervously picking at the hem of her shirt. He didn't turn to face her, so she just went ahead with what she was going to say.

"Ron," she said, "About…about what happened back there, I-"

"Hermione," he firmly interrupted, still not turning to face her, "I really don't want to talk about that right now. OK?"

"Just listen to me," she bit her lip in nervousness, "What you did to that man… I had no idea you could do something like that-"

"Yeah, well… now you know."

"But _when_?"

At this question, Ron finally turned around, question on his face. "When _what_?" he demanded.

"When did you learn to do that?" she asked, her voice getting a little more determined with every sentence, "The Ron I knew back in school could never do that. He could beat up Malfoy, true, but he could never kill anyone, it just wasn't his nature. So, I can't help but wonder when you could've acquired such an awful skill?"

There was no noise, except for Skip, who was loudly crunching away from a bowl of Crunch Berries (a really good Muggle cereal) and watching with mixed fascination. Finally, Ron gave his meager answer.

"I picked it up during the war," he said, "Guy I was working with taught me."

For any other person, one of low intelligence and a laid back personality, would've accepted this answer for what it was. But we're not talking about that kind of person with Hermione Granger. Not by a long shot.

"Ron…what did you do during the war?"

"Hermione-"

"No, you never told me. I've always asked, but you've always avoided giving me an answer. Well, I'm not letting you do that this time. You are going to tell me what you did, right now!"

The next thing she knew, Ron was inches from her face, shouting for all it was worth at her.

"YOU WANT TO KNOW WHAT I DID?!" he hollered, "YOU _REALLY_ WANT TO KNOW?! I WAS WITH THE INTERROGATION UNIT, AND I TORTURED PEOPLE! ALRIGHT? IS _THAT_ WHAT YOU WANTED TO HEAR? HOW I BEAT UP AND KILLED ANY DEATH EATER SENT TO US? DID YOU WANT TO HEAR _THAT_, HERMIONE?!"

Hermione's mouth fell open, and her eyes went wide. Hers weren't the only ones; Loiselle and Rodyle were taken aback, and Huntington looked at Skip for conformation. They had never known that fact either. Skip nodded sadly, and stared back at the argument taking place.

"Ron…" she choked out, tears in her eyes, complete and utter disbelief welling up, "Why didn't you ever tell me? Was it that hard that you had to run away to America to get away from it? _I_ could've helped, your family could've helped you. You had people here for you, yet you still ran-"

"Alright, forget it," Ron turned for the door, "I can't take this right now. I'm leaving."

Yet again, he was almost at the door when she stopped him again. Tears now ran freely down her face, and her face, as well as her eyes, was red. When she started her own screaming bout, it tore Ron up, because he could just tell how much it hurt her.

"FINE!" she screamed, "FINE! JUST SHUT ME OUT, JUST PUSH ME AWAY! GOD, YOU'VE ALWAYS DONE THIS! WHENEVER LIFE GETS TOO HARD FOR YOU TO HANDLE, YOU JUST SHUT EVERYONE OUT, AS IF WE'RE NOTHING BUT THROW-AWAYS TO YOU! YOU KNOW, I HONESTLY THOUGHT, AFTER ALL THIS TIME, YOU MIGHT HAVE ACTUALLY GROWN UP! BUT NO, YOU'RE STILL THE SAME LITTLE OBNOXIOUS, IMMATURE BRAT WITH THE EMOTIONAL RANGE OF A TEASPOON! YOU WANNA PLAY LIKE THAT? THEN LEAVE ME OUT OF IT!"

Before he could respond, she stormed past him, shoving him violently out of the way and slammed the door on her way out. Lindsay made to follow, but first stopped and looked at Ron.

"Are you _always_ like this to her?" she demanded, "God, do _you_ have issues."

Then she left too, and he just stood there. He sighed.

"You have no idea…"

-----

It took Lindsay forever to find Hermione, and when she finally did, she debated on whether or not to actually go over and talk to her. Her friend was sitting by a lake under a tree, crying her eyes out. Even from the little distance, Lindsay could hear her friend loud and clear.

This sucked. Three years, she's been waiting for him to come back, and now that he finally had, he was already making her cry. She had heard about all the rows they had always gotten into at school. Personally, why she loved the guy was beyond her.

She was about to find out.

"Hey," she greeted as she walked over.

Hermione instantly lifter her head up off her arms and began wiping her eyes with her sleeve.

"Hey," she sniffed, then choked out a small laugh, "God, I'm a mess, huh?"

"N… well, yeah, you are," Lindsay admitted, "Just right now, anyway."

"For Gods sakes," Hermione sighed, "He's always done this to me. Ever since the day we first met on the train. You know what we were known as in school? Whenever one would mention Ron and I, someone else was bound to say, 'Oh, you mean those two Gryffindors that fight like an old married couple?' He's immature, he has no sense of what the right thing to say is… half his school time was saying or doing one thing to get me in a right state after another."

"Then why do you love him, Mione?" asked her friend, "That's what I don't get. How can you seriously love someone who gives you all this crap and calls it cake?"

Hermione sighed and looked out towards the lake. The sun was now setting, giving the lake a beautiful, blood-red image on its clear waters. It reminded her of the evenings at Hogwarts, the ones Ron, Harry, Ginny, and herself used to enjoy. Before everything had gone from complicated to just screwed up in every possible way.

"I don't know," she answered softly, "He can be a jerk, but he can also be the sweetest boy you would ever know. Whenever I was upset or angry, he would somehow find a way to try to find a way to make me feel better. He can be really funny- probably from growing up with his brothers. He's loyal to a fault; he was always there for me or Harry, even if what we were doing could've gotten him killed or seriously hurt- and often times, he did get hurt- but he never complained or backed down. And… he loved me. I always knew, because he looked at me the same way my father always looked at my mother. I remember when he finally asked me out, how happy I was. He can be awfully romantic, as I found out on our first date. And he was never afraid to say _exactly_ what was on his mind. That's just what made Ron…_Ron_."

Her voice almost had that dreamy quality common in most primary school girls. Lindsay smiled.

"Ms. Granger, if I didn't know any better, I'd say you were caught, hook, line, and sinker," she said.

"I got caught a long time ago," Hermione replied truthfully, "and I doubt I'll ever be able to let go."

-----

"So… that was your whole school relationship?"

'sigh' "Yes…"

"…"

"…"

"Man… you must've had some _really_ crappy dates."

"Shut up," Ron threw his little notebook at Skip who ducked and laughed, taking a bite from his Kit-Kat (another Muggle food).

"Seriously, dude, you go all on a troll rampage, and did you ever just say, 'Hey, Hermione, I love you. Marry me, please?'" he questioned.

"What, was that what you and Kristina did?" asked Ron.

"Naw, she pretty much had to threaten me to propose. I was a nervous bastard."

"What, you? I didn't think nervous was in your vocabulary."

"Least I didn't yell at the woman I loved every time I got pissed off."

Ron glared at his partner, who laughed again, and went back to his work, though his mind wasn't concentrated on his work.

He always had treated Hermione like crap. He never meant to; it just happened. He couldn't control his emotions as well as everyone else could, and that often came back to bite him in the ass. Hermione was the only woman he had ever felt anything higher than friendship for, loved her as much as he loved his own family. And with the way he treated her, it was amazing if she still loved him back.

Maybe she didn't…

While he thought, Skip chewed away on his candy bar and began looking at the pictures of the victims. They had been taken in color, instead of black-and-white, so that both made it easier to write an appearance and also made the scene a lot more gruesome. But as he examined the photos, something caught his attention that caused him to let out a small little chuckle.

"Hey, Ron-o, you wanna hear something funny I just realized?" he asked.

"What?" asked an annoyed Ron.

"All these women have brown hair."

Silence. Ron picked his head up, all of a sudden attentive.

"What?" he demanded.

Skip waved the tip of his candy bar over the pictures.

"The victims, they all have brown hair," he said again, "Like that one last month… and this one, the one we were looking at the other day, when Brownside showed up on our doorstep. All brown, all the same color of brown."

At this point, Ron had gotten up to examine the pictures for himself. His eyes were hard and fixed on the images. All of them did indeed have the same hair color. And…

"They all have brown eyes, too," he said softly, realization setting in. Even with the life drained from them, he could still see the hint of brown in them.

"Huh… so they do," Skip looked up at Ron, "What are the odds that all his victims would end up with the same hair and eye color? Like Hitler, only this guy's killing them off instead of making a race of them."

"I'd say the odds are pretty good," said Ron, all grim, "I'd say they're really good, actually. And not just coincidence."

"Whaddya mean?"

"Isn't it odd that, after failing to kill Hermione, he wouldn't just move on to someone else, even with all the security on her? I mean, he missed a girl once, three weeks ago, and he never attacked her again after that. So why's this one different? Maybe it's because _this_ is the one that really matters…"

"… I'm not following."

"Skip, what if it's Hermione he's been after the whole time? What if he just got confused? I mean, look-" Ron picked the pictures up, "Same hair color, same eye color… the hair's all in the same messed up state, too. Hermione's hair used to never know the meaning of the word 'comb'. What if all this time, he's just been getting the wrong girls?"

Skip looked down at the pictures, all the hair, all the eyes, and it all began making sense to him, what Ron was talking about. He looked back up.

"Well, if that's true, then why did he go to America?" he pondered, "I mean, didn't he know she was here and not with you?"

"Maybe he didn't. I mean, we weren't exactly top of the headlines after the war ended, right? A lot of people didn't even know I _left_. He could've thought she came with me when I moved."

"Well, then… what about the first three? They were all guys."

"Wasn't that the mass murder? Four bodies in one night, all at the park?"

"…Yeah…"

"Then it makes sense. He kills the girl, and anyone in the vicinity, which may have been a couple friends or even a boyfriend. Then he picks up from there."

The more he talked, the more it made sense to the both of them. Why else would this guy be killing a bunch of girls that looked alike? Why else would he continually be stalking Hermione, even going so far as to sending a strike force after her?

"So that just leaves one large question," said Skip, "Why Hermione? Out of all the people on Earth, why would they go after her?"

Ron shook his head.

"I dunno, mate… I dunno…"

And he had a feeling, by the time this was all over, he would regret asking.

* * *

Finally.

Again, sorry for taking so long, but I _needed_ this one to be better than the last one. And I like it so much better than I did the last one.

I know I shouldn't have put the yelling in all cap locks, but you know what? It's almost ten o'clock, I'm friggin' tired, and cap locks work for me, so…there.

So…review and enjoy.


	10. Suspicions and Plots

Chapter Ten, nice. A story-decade.

YES, CITIZENS! I-AM-**_ALIVE_**!!!!!

The only reason this chapter took so long this time was because after the last two, I needed a break from it. This was actually a breeze to write and I actually had a lot of fun with it. It's short, which is why it works.

charma10- Yeah, I thought it would. My friend and I brainstormed on how it related and I came up with this. I liked it, and I think you'll like how it goes. Especially _next_ chapter, which I will not disclose it now.

MizBookieWormie- Yeah, I know, that's what _I_ say. But my amigo, Silent Dre, along with Blizrun, a reviewer for my Freedom Fighters story on here, keep telling me all caps is the worst way to go about it, cause, in Dre's words, "I'm blowing the readers' eyes out." Can't remember the exact reasons, but there you have it. Way I see it, I've always used 'em, my main readers have never once complained to me about them, so full speed ahead.

Kei the Miko Neko Hanyou- The next two chapters after this are gonna be hella-big chapters. So stay tuned.

L-Ae-D- Ay-a… (grabs shirt collar and pulls on it) eesh… I dunno if I can vouch for all of those, except yes, "mixed fascination and something else" is one of my own personal, colorful expressions, so it belongs there. I don't really know what else to say, other than…_whoops_. Heh, but all jokes aside, this will be a lighter chapter, so hopefully, less cramped fingers for yourself.

Cynthia Cacciola- Aw, thank you. Stay tuned for more.

ako- Ron will get better. Trust me.

Salemsoriginal99- Thank you. Yours do, too.

OK, with all that said and done, here's Chapter Ten:

* * *

Chapter Ten: Suspicions and Plots

The next morning, Ron and Skip called an emergency meeting, bringing Huntington, Loiselle, and Rodyle into the back room. There, they told them all they had figured out, and re-showed them the pictures. The three Aurors looked stunned, their eyes transfixed on the gruesome photos.

"_C'este imposible," _said Loiselle, covering his eyes.

"OK, this is, like, really eerie," added Huntington.

"How could we have missed that?" Rodyle demanded angrily, "Out of all the time we spent going over those photographs, how could we possibly miss the one thing that was staring us right in the face?"

"Can you blame us?" Skip sighed, leaning against the wall with his arms folded, "We've been searching for a link to the killings, not monitoring a look-alike pageant."

"Same eyes, too?" Loiselle questioned, "Is it even possible that he would find thirty or forty-some odd girls that all look like Hermione?"

"Hell if I know," Skip turned to Ron, "So what do we do now?"

"Just keep doing what we've been doing," Ron replied, "and hope we can get him before it's too late."

"But we've been at it for weeks now, man. We don't even have a main suspect," piped up Huntington.

"Actually, I think we've got one now."

"Who?"

"Don't say it, Ron," Skip warned his partner sternly. "I know you don't like him, and I know it looks suspicious from your P.O.V, but for Gods sakes, don't say it. Please, for me, don't say it-"

"Brownside."

"Yeah. He said it." Skip flopped down into a chair and groaned.

"Brownside?" Rodyle frowned, "Are you serious?"

"Yeah," he nodded, "I'm serious."

"And why is the General a suspect?"

"The way he killed that guy yesterday- he used the spell the killer's been using. And he's been acting suspicious, just ever since we got here and started this assignment."

"Aiight, Ron-o," Skip leaned forward, hands cupped together, prepared to make a last-ditch attempt to talk him out of his belief, "let's say- just for argument's sake- that Brownside is indeed the killer. You don't have any concrete proof… _at all_…nothing. You see where I'm going with this?"

"Yeah, and it's Brownside," Loiselle added. "The hero of the Second War. 'Old Ironguts' and all that. Why would he go from decorated veteran to cold-blooded murderer?"

"I don't know," Ron insisted, "but none of you can deny that what happened yesterday and everything we've seen in the last few weeks can't just be purely coincidence. This case was just a standard routine for us until he showed up. And then, he's not with us for, what, a day, before we're all of a sudden thrown right into the middle of a war with this nut? And it's been one wild ride after another since then."

"I just don't see it, man," Huntington shook his head.

"Just wait and see, Cam. I know I'm right on this one."

"No, you _think_ you're right on this one," Skip cut in. "Think. There's a subtle difference, you see. To think is to assume. And to assume is to make an ass out of you and me. To know would mean you actually had evidence, or have caught the person in the act-"

"Don't give me that, Skippy! You were right there with me when we saw that scene yesterday!"

"What did we see, Ron? We saw the aftermath. That's what we saw. We don't know what the hell really happened, man, OK? All we saw was a lot of blood and Brownside's wand in the guy's face."

"Skippy-"

"Heads up, guys. Ironguts."

Ron and Skip stopped their bickering and sat back as Brownside entered the room, accompanied by Hermione and Lindsay. Upon seeing her, Ron stiffened slightly, but Hermione gave no inclination of him even being in the room. The General looked around at his team.

"Well," he began, "I believe yesterday's debacle of a mission proved exactly what we are up against on this case."

_You believe…like you wouldn't already know yourself, Brownside,_ thought Ron bitterly.

"Therefore," continued Brownside, "I have decided that today, I am going to personally investigate what I believe could shed some light on our little mystery."

"And what would that be, General?" Skip asked.

"The warehouse."

Silence. Ron and Skip exchanged concerned glances.

"Warehouse…as in the warehouse where Loiselle and Rodyle found all the information? That warehouse?" questioned Ron.

"Yes, Weasley, _that_ warehouse," Brownside answered coldly.

"But sir, last time we were there, so was he," Loiselle piped up. "How do we know he won't be there this time?"

"The British Aurors have not reported any live action inside the building since we put it on lockdown. If there were anyone living in there, we'd know it. While I'm there, you men will be watching the exterior from the camera we have watching the front to make sure we don't get any unwelcome visitors. The operation shouldn't take anymore than an hour at most. Any questions?"

"Yeah- why the hell are you going in there alone?" Skip demanded.

"I'm not going in there alone, DuMont," the General answered matter-of-factly. "Miss Granger here will be accompanying me."

There was a long pause. So silent was it in the room, the shattering of the glass that had been in Rodyle's hand was ear-splitting. Ron's heart sank, and his anger rose. He stood up, and Huntington gulped. This was where Brownside was going to catch some hell.

"How could you, you bastard?!" he demanded angrily. "How could you do that? Bring the prime target of a murder investigation into a dangerous situation, knowing _full bloody well_ what could happen, why would you force her into it-?"

"He didn't ask me, Ronald," stated Hermione, who, for the first time since entering, glared at him. "I just told him I would go."

There was another pause. Ron gaped at his past love.

"_What_?" he demanded.

"Oh, _this_ isn't going to end pretty," said Skip.

"If there are no further questions," Brownside addressed the others, "Then let's move. We're burning daylight."

The other three Aurors got up and followed Brownside, leaving Ron, Hermione, Lindsay, and Skip in the room. The latter two trying hard not to get involved.

"You can't be serious, Hermione," said Ron.

"There's no point in arguing about it, Ron," Hermione answered. "I don't want to just be the damsel in distress. I want to help."

"You can help by not getting yourself killed." He reached forward and grabbed her arm. She flinched, but he ignored it. "Hermione, listen. If this is just a way to get back at me for yesterday, then there's an easier way-"

"No, Ron!" She pulled out of his grasp, "This is not about you. This is about me, and trying to make it so I don't die at age twenty-one. And if you don't like that, then just stay out of my way!"

She turned and stormed out in a huff. With an apologetic shrug, Lindsay ran out after her. Skip sighed and placed his hand on his partner's shoulder.

"In my twenty-two years of living, I've never quite known what exactly irony was," he said, shaking his head, "but I'm gonna go out on a limb here and believe that this is _definitely_ irony."

* * *

Gonna just end it here, 'cause going further would kill it.

Now: because I don't do this as often as I should, and because I have absolutely no idea as to when I'm going to get the next chapter up and running, I'm gonna go ahead and give you a lil' chapter tease. Just so you guys have something to keep you occupied during the wait.

So, here it is:

_As he fell to the floor, she screamed in sheer terror. But that scream soon died in her throat as she saw him glaring at her, his eyes almost red. And then, it truly hit her._

_She was alone with the murderer._

Brief, but again, something to look forward too.

Review please.


	11. Shocking Revelation

Due to somewhat popular demand (where the hell are all my reviewers?), here's Chap. 11.

charma10: if you have an idea, hold on to it, see where it goes. If you're right, then…well, I don't know what I'd give you yet. I'll get back to you.

Vogon Jelts: Um…it's ann-i-ka. Like it looks, I guess. Great name, though, seriously. I'm glad you're enjoying it. Stay tuned for more.

LitaFanForLife: Thank you.

ako: heh, yeah. I really needed a break, y'know? But, I'm back. So here we go:

* * *

Chapter Eleven: A Shocking Revelation

* * *

**When last we left off:**

"_No, Ron!" She pulled out of his grasp, "This is not about you. This is about me, and trying to make it so I don't die at age twenty-one. And if you don't like that, then just stay out of my way!"_

_She turned and stormed out in a huff. With an apologetic shrug, Lindsay ran out after her. Skip sighed and placed his hand on his partner's shoulder._

"_In my twenty-two years of living, I've never quite known what exactly irony was," he said, shaking his head, "but I'm gonna go out on a limb here and believe that this is __definitely__ irony."_

* * *

Even with everything set up, Ron couldn't help but get a bad, nagging feeling tearing him up. None of this sounded right to him. For Hermione to go into the warehouse, the last known location of their murdering friend- with Brownside, no less, who very might well _be_ the murdering friend- by themselves, was a tactical, blundering error. Something was bound to go wrong. It always did.

"So everybody knows their part?" asked General Brownside

"_Oui_, General," Loiselle replied. "We have Aurors on stand-by should you need our assistance."

"Alright," the General glanced to the others. "Once we're in there, we'll have no communications. If we're not out of there in an hour, I want you coming in just to make sure. Is that clear?"

"Yes sir."

Brownside nodded, and looked over towards Hermione. She nodded. She really wasn't ready, but she had to be. This was as dangerous as they came, but she needed to do this. She needed to find anything possible to stop this man from killing any other innocent people. To keep everyone safe. To keep her safe.

And maybe, possibly, to bring things like they were again…

"Alright," Brownside took out his wand, "good luck, men. We'll see you in an hour."

He nodded to Hermione, who took out her wand. As they exited, she and Ron exchanged one final glance at each other. No emotions were shed; just a wordless voice begging her to be safe. She made no response to that, but there was just something there that told him she would do her best. Obviously, he hadn't been forgiven. But it had been shown time and again that even if you're not forgiven, that didn't mean you're not supposed to care.

And he did care.

And then they were gone. The remaining members of the team watched as they moved casually towards the warehouse doors. Before long, they were inside, and the doors shut behind them. Ron and Skip exchanged glances.

"I got a really bad feeling about this," said the Brit.

"I had that once," Skip replied with a nod. "Then I just realized it was gas from Kristina's burritos. You may need a bathroom break."

"……."

-----

As the doors closed behind them, Hermione felt as if the temperature had dropped a thousand degrees. It was dark, cold, damp, and covered in cobwebs, and appeared as if it hadn't been used in a hundred years. Why would anyone invest their time here?

She heard a click behind her. Brownside had locked the doors.

"What are you doing?" she demanded, alarmed.

"It's to ensure nobody leaves," he told her brusquely, "The British Ministry has allowed it so that you cannot Apparate to or from this location specifically for this operation. This door is the only way in or out. And I don't want him slipping out this way, should we corner him."

He said it calmly, knowing what he was doing, and yet still, Hermione couldn't allow herself to feel safe. Not with him. She didn't know why; maybe too many bad memories of bad experiences under his command. Or maybe it was something more…some irrational, unexplainable fear that had taken a hold of her.

"Move, Granger. I don't want you lagging."

He began moving off, his wand lit at the tip so he could see where he was going. Hermione shook out of her reveille and raised her wand.

"_Lumos_," she whispered. Instantly, the tip of her wand glowed with a bright light. It comforted her some as she took off after the General through the depths of the facility.

The further in they walked, the more cold it got. Soon it got so bad that she felt like she was walking through an ice age with no ice. She shivered, wishing she had brought along a jacket. Brownside showed no emotion, no indication of even being cold. But that was just Ole' Ironguts all over again. He never showed any emotion. Or if he did, it was just anger.

They turn a corner and started walking down another hallway. And then, suddenly, it dawned on her then that he seemed to know exactly where he was going. And not just like someone who had examined the maps carefully before they had gone in. like someone who had walked each room, each hallway a million times in the past. She eyed him suspiciously, but said nothing. Were something to go wrong, she didn't want to be the one to have instigated it.

They soon found themselves into a large, wide room with nothing inside. In another lifetime, this may have been some sort of training room or something. Brownside led her in and closed the door behind them. His eyes had some sort of weird glint in them as he walked over to the machines.

"This is it," he said softly.

Hermione looked around, confused. There was nothing there. At all.

"What is it?" she asked.

"This is the Testing Room," he answered quietly, his eyes glancing around carefully, for what, she didn't know. "This is where they practiced the entirety of the test spells developed for the War."

"What are you talking about?" Now she was getting a little concerned. He knew far more than he was letting on.

"During the War, the Ministry gave authorization for developing new spells that might turn the tide to our favor," the General explained, more excitement growing in his voice. "For six months, new spells were flown around; some dangerous, others catastrophic. At least six of them ended up getting banned. One of them ended up as an Unforgivable. That one, or so I believe, has become the topic of much controversy these days."

"You mean…_Deviggio_…"

Hermione gulped. This place…not only was the killer's possible hideout here, the spell he used to kill was developed here. Under Ministry authorization, no less. It was hard for her to believe; she was standing right at Ground Zero.

"But…I thought the enemy developed it? That's what they told me-?"

"We got the name of the spell off of a Death Eater we captured and tortured." Brownside walked into the middle of the room with his arms behind his back. "He told us of what it did, its effects…well, it was just too good an opportunity for our side to pass up."

"But-?"

"The fact remains that neither side ended up using the spell in actual combat." His arms came to his sides. And then, Hermione grew more frightened. His fists were clenched tightly together that, had he not been wearing his gloves, his fingernails would've torn up the palms of his hands. When he spoke next, the way he spoke sent shivers down her spine; she had heard this type of voice once before, and it had been from a mental patient in one of the wards at St. Mungos.

"But they should have," he said angrily. "The spell had extraordinary effects; it destroyed a person literally from the inside. Bone, organs, everything. And it made them feel pain. It made them feel every single ounce of it. We tested it on some of the prisoners that were of no further use to our interrogation team. And we could see it, in their eyes, as they died. It wasn't the Cruciactus or _Avada Kedavra_… it was both of them, as one. It hurt. And the power we felt behind it…incredible."

"How do you know all of this?"

He laughed at the question. A loud, hearty laugh; a laugh she had never heard before, not from him.

"I know this," he said, "because I'm the one who conducted it. It may have been Interrogation's invitation, but it was my party. I put it under my jurisdiction; I gave it authorization. I saw it developed, from its early stages to its later. And I was there, right there, when those bastards in the Ministry forbade its use, because of how brutal it was. They said it was _wrong_ for us to use it."

"But it _is_ wrong!" Hermione shouted. "It's inhumane killing, why would you go to such lengths just to win a war?"

"The objective of this project wasn't just to win the war," Brownside finally turned back to face her, and she could see the deranged gleam in his eyes. "It was to make them afraid. Make Voldemort regret waging a second war on our community, and make his followers fear fighting for his name. _Deviggio_ was the subject of a psychological warfare as well as a battlefield one. Those who survived watching it went mad days later due to what they saw. A weak human mind isn't meant to withstand death's brutality. If we could use it in a combat situation, we could render the entire Death Eater army combat-ineffective. And it would have brought fewer casualties to our home front. Can you honestly say that's a bad thing, Ms. Granger?"

But Hermione just shook her head.

"Even Death Eaters don't deserve that kind of brutality, General," she told him. "No one does. That spell didn't deserve to see the light of day, because the only thing it is good for is death and destruction. I'm glad the Ministry banned it. I only wish you hadn't discovered it in the first place, because then it wouldn't have led me to have to fear for my life."

Brownside snorted.

"You sound just like Weasley," he muttered viciously, mockingly. "At least now I know where he gets it from."

She was taken aback from this statement. "W-What do you mean by that?"

"He never could let go of you. Even after he left, and went on to Auror with the Yankees, he still couldn't get you off his mind. It made him ineffective to me, weak. And there wasn't a damn thing I could do to snap him out of it. He just couldn't bring himself to move on, even though he's the one who walked out the door-"

"Shut up."

"Granger, since the day we met, you have been nothing but a constant thorn in my side. And personally, I'm growing irritated of it."

"You're out of your bloody mind!"

"Mad?" he laughed again, this time lower, deranged. Deadly. "Oh no…you don't know anything about insanity," he continued, his voice a mere whisper. "You're only crawling under the surface of it."

He took a step towards her, but she raised her wand at him. She didn't care that he was the famous General from the War. Didn't care that he had about a foot on her and weighed about a hundred pounds more. She wasn't the smartest witch of her year at Hogwarts for nothing.

"Don't take another step closer," she ordered.

"What are you going to do, Ms. Granger?" he asked with a sneer. "You can't kill me. You don't have the guts to do it. You couldn't even kill that Death Eater, remember? You're useless, Granger."

She opened her mouth to answer or to shout a curse at him- she wasn't sure which yet- when they heard a noise outside. They both turned their heads to the closed door and listened carefully. There was a slight scuffle at the door, then someone walking as if he owned the place.

_Ron, _was what ran through her mind, but Brownside, regaining his composure, took out his wand and went over to the door. Carefully, he slowly opened the door until it was fully opened and glanced quietly around the corner.

"Weasley? Is that you?" he demanded.

There was a murmur outside the door. And then, suddenly, Brownside's head exploded in a mass of blood and brains. Blood shout out in sharp spurts from the back of his head, and from his mouth, his ears, his eyes. Brains splattered across the walls and a little landed on her face. Fragments of his skull pierced right out the skin, shards shooting out like shrapnel. Brownside slumped to his knees, his wand falling out of his now limp hand, before he fell backwards, his arms outstretched. His face had a look of terror on it; he had never known what had hit him, and yet, as he had said, he had truly felt pain when he had died.

As he fell to the floor, she screamed in sheer terror. But that scream soon died in her throat as she saw him glaring at her, his eyes almost red. And then, it truly hit her.

She was alone with the murderer.

* * *

**DUN DUN DUN!!!**

Heh. I never get tired of doing that.

Wow…I've been waiting for this chapter. It's one of the first I thought up for this story, so you can imagine my relief at finally being able to do it, eh?

No chap. tease. Yes, I'm evil. But we'll just have to wait until next time…whenever that may be.

Review please!


	12. Run!

Chapter Twelve, ready.

I wasn't really sure where I wanted this chapter to go. So I tinkered with several possible ideas that soon formulated into this final result, which I am surprisingly quite pleased with and I think you will be, too.

Sorry, guys. I _really_ wanted to get this out earlier last week- preferably the 9th, it being my birthday and all (18, baby! Woot!) – but driving school got in the way of that (Yes, I just finished Driver's Ed. No, I don't have my license yet. Yes, you can all stop laughing now.). But here it is now, and I know you'll enjoy it.

ako: Now you got me curious on The Heiress. Any details and/or where I can take a look?

charma10: ooh… sorry. I've had that in plan since I thought the story up. Probably should've warned ahead of time. I'll make sure to put up warnings next time I do something like that.

LitaFanForLife: you'll just have to wait and see.

Owl of the Night: I know eviler. But I'm glad to hear you're enjoying it. Stay tuned.

Tara22: Now THAT was a really helpful review, and I don't think I have enough words to express my gratitude towards it. I promise to keep it up as best I can, especially with this chapter.

Salemsoriginal99: Your review made me crack up so hard, it seriously made my day. As mentioned above, I will post a warning next time. Other than that, I've had this chapter in my head for many a while and I'm not entirely sure it was from reading yours; personally, I can't even remember what inspired me to write this _story_. But ah well.

L-Ae-D: I can't tell if that's a good thing or not, you not correcting it, but it's OK. I stopped getting alerts and stuff for a little while there, too.

flash wonder cat: Oh my God, yours was another review that brightened up my day. Thanks.

Just saw OOtP today! It was SOOOO awesome. I _loved_ the Ron/Hermione moments, they were so sweet and just the inspiration I needed to finish this chapter up.

And now, here we go:

* * *

Chapter Twelve: Run!

Hermione had never been more afraid than at that moment. Face to face with a mass-murderer, trapped in a dark building, having just witnessed an old acquaintance get his head blown up…the fear was insurmountable. For the first time since the war, she was in a situation that there was a very high chance she would not escape from.

He took a step forward. She took a step back. Then she raised her wand.

"_Im_-"

She didn't even say the entire word before her wand suddenly flew out of her and out of sight. She recognized it as a non-verbal spell; _Expelliarmus_, to be exact. Impressive, but it still left her in a bad position. His wand was aimed right at her chest. Through his scarf, his mouth curled into a sneer.

"Hello, Miss Granger," he said, in that deep, low, gravelly voice she had heard just days before.

Her hands were shaking uncontrollably, but she still spoke as clearly as she could.

"Who are you?" she demanded.

"That depends, I suppose," was his answer. "I can be whoever I wish. So who would _you_ prefer me to be? Hmm?"

She tried to zoom in to get a better glimpse. She might as well have not tried at all, for his face was just too well hidden. The hat, the scarf, the whole trench-coat theme- whoever it was had been planning this moment for a very long time.

"What do you want?"

"Now, now, Miss Granger," he said with a cold chuckle. "You don't really expect me to answer that, now, do you?"

He took another step towards her. She took another step back away from him. Then, to her surprise, he lowered his arm and put his wand in his large coat pocket. He held his hands up, presenting himself.

"I don't want to hurt you just yet," he told her. "First I thought I might be able to talk to you. Face to face. Would that work for you, Miss Granger?"

Hermione didn't answer. She took another step back but soon found herself against the wall. Her eyes widened as she realized she was now completely trapped. She threw a desperate glance at her wand, now lying uselessly a few feet away, and back at Brownside's murderer, who continued walking towards her, his hand now stretched out to grab her. Her mind raced. She needed a plan. And fast.

Her foot, apparently, thought faster than her brain did.

BAM! She kicked him, right in his…unmentionables. Just a reflex, one she was well used to at this stage in her life. He howled in pain, clutching his sore parts and falling to his knees, squeaking his moans. His one hand reached down into his pocket for his wand again, but once again, her foot thought first.

BAM!

This time, the kick went to the head. He went down with a thud, a small spray of blood shooting from his mouth. This was her chance. She fumbled for her wand on her way out the door, dropping it twice; her hands were shaking that badly.

Once out the door, she bolted right without even thinking of where she was going. She sprinted about half-way down the hall when she stopped. The exit had been the other way, not the way she was currently going. She turned around, hoping against hope that she could make it down the other end in time before he decided to-

She was about a foot away from the door when a red-colored spell shot out of the room and exploded against the opposite wall. She stopped so suddenly, her feet flew out from under her and she fell backwards onto the floor. She rolled and scurried on her hands and knees for a few feet before she could finally get back onto her feet. That spell meant that he was back on his feet. And he was back on the chase. And, despite her being the smartest witch of her year and quite capable of taking him on, she ran. Fear was gripping her too hard. She would never fight properly in her current state.

As she ran, he came out the door. Limping somewhat- what guy wouldn't, after a blow like that? – and growling menacingly under his disguise.

"I guess that's not going to happen," he said, as he followed after his prey.

She ran, ran harder than she had run in quite a few years. This was probably because she was more afraid than she had been in quite a few years. This ranked up to all the times she had been chased by Voldemort and his Death Eaters; maybe even surpassed them. She ran towards the nearest exit, wherever it may be. It didn't matter where it was. As long as she found it with as much distance between her and her attacker as possible, that was all that really mattered. She'd be safe if she could only get out.

Finally, she found it. The way out. Her sanctuary, the only known exit to this madhouse. She dashed towards it and grabbed a hold of the handle and gave it a fierce twist.

Nothing. It was locked. She remembered now- Brownside had locked it before, when they had first entered. She reached back into her pocket for her wand, to say the counter-curse to unlock it.

Her hand felt only an empty pocket.

She instantly panicked. Frantically, she searched her pockets, but came up empty. She looked behind her, back the way she had come. When the spell had knocked her down…that must've been when she had dropped it. It must've fallen out during the confusion. Now, not only was she being stalked, but she was locked in with him, and now, defenseless.

From further down, she could hear his footsteps. Walking, calmly, though in a hurry. He was speeding up his pace, but was in no dire hurry to reach her. He knew the door was locked. It was now his maze. And she was his rat.

Desperately, she ran. There had to be another way out; a window or something that she could escape from. Whatever it was, she wasn't dying here. She couldn't allow herself to die here. Not with so many things still undone.

Not without making up with Ron…

Up one hallway and down another; it seemed as if this place had no beginning or end to it now. The rooms and hallways all began to look the same after a time. She looked around frantically for another way, but every door she found, she had already tried at least once before. It almost seemed as though the place were bewitched to keep her running in circles until fate eventually caught up to her.

BAM!

From behind her, a curse ricocheted off the wall, followed quickly by another. All of them were blue, and all of them without a word shouted. She didn't want to look back, but found herself doing so anyway. Her stalker, recovered from his "accident", aiming his wand right at her head. A fiery determination settling in his eyes.

Almost instantly, he fired another one. Hermione threw herself to the floor to dodge the curse and crawled on her hands and knees through the next door. He half-walked, half-ran after her.

She got to her feet and turned the corner. Of course, she had not taken into account that turning the corner also meant flying down a flight of stairs. Her right foot hit her left one and sent her flying down, arms flailing and her screaming. She hit a stair or two and would have probably broken her neck upon hitting the ground-

Her hand finally caught the railing about halfway from impact. Her feet slipped, more than once, but her hand seemed to agree with her mind and refused to let go. Her other hand joined it to stabilize her more. She breathed a quick breath of relief.

At least she would survive _one_ death today for certain.

She hustled down the stairs, one at a time, though still at a fast pace. There was no time for her to catch a breath. She still had a psychopath on her tail. She needed to get out of this building. But by the looks of things, she had only brought herself further away from an exit. She had to be below ground by now.

There had to be another way. She whipped around the corner again just as he appeared in the doorway. Slowly, not making the same mistake she had just made, he proceeded down the stairs, his wand arm out and ready. He sneered. He really had her now.

Kicking down the door, Hermione looked around. She appeared to be in the Boiler Room now. A very wide room, with a large, wide boiler that probably supplied the energy for most of the facility. She looked past it, and her tired eyes soon lit up with joy and relief. A door at the other end; hopefully, a way out.

She went into an all-out sprint for the end. This might be it- her escape from this living hell, her ticket to sanctuary. Once she was out, she could get to Ron and the others and maybe they could finally take him down. And then maybe her life could finally get back to normal.

Back to the way it used to be.

Behind her, however, he had just walked into the room. His horrible eyes went from her running form to the giant boiler, just near her. His face yet again twisted into a cruel smile as he raised his wand hand.

She looked over her shoulder and saw him, with his wand pointed right at her. Yet…not at her. She followed his aim to…the boiler. Her eyes widened and her mouth dropped. Time seemed to slow down as he fired the curse and she began forming the words that instantly came to mind, though she never thought she'd say them:

"Oh, _sh_-"

BOOM!

-----

Ron's fingers tapped impatiently as his eyes darted over to the clock for the sixtieth time in the last half an hour. The wait was unbearable. There was still no word from Hermione or Brownside, and he was starting to get worried. What if something bad had happened? What if-?

"This is the worst part of the job," said Skip, tossing his wand in the air and catching it. "The waiting, you know. The wondering what's going on, what's happening…is one of them dead or in a death-defying situation or-"

"I get it, Skippy," his friend snapped at him, obviously not in the mood to hear it.

There was another silence, with Ron returning to contemplating his former girlfriend's status. Then-

"You know what we need for these missions?"

He groaned. "No, Skip. What do we need for these missions?"

Skip took a quick look around the room, and then looked back at Ron.

"We need a TV."

Silence.

"…Come again?"

"A TV, you know- one of those big ones, the ones you can hold an X-Box Live tournament on or something. C'mon, we can play round after round of Halo 2, whaddya say?"

"I say you Americans would not be alive without your technology, be it Muggle or wizard."

"I take that as a complement. But still-"

"Skippy," snapped Ron again, getting more and more agitated by the minute. "I…REALLY… don't care, about the X-Cube, or whatever the bloody hell it is. My only concern right now is of getting Hermione the hell out of that warehouse; alive, if possible. So, unless you have a…a bloody laptop or something, that can tell me if she's alive or not, just _shut UP_."

There was a long, vacant silence, broken only by Loiselle wandering into the van, having just returned from his trip to the lavatories.

"Alright, Ron-o, Skippy, up and at 'em. You're on donut run," he told them, sitting down and returning to his book.

Skip frowned. "I thought it was Cam's turn for today?" he inquired.

"No, his turn was _yesterday_. _Your_ turn is today."

"Wait, doesn't Annika go after Cam?"

"Scheduled got changed; now you're after Cam."

"Why weren't we told?"

"To avoid an argument like this. Can I concentrate on my book now? I'm just getting to the good part."

"God, I hate the donut schedule," Skip grumbled, getting up from his seat. "It's always changing, and it never changes the way you'd like it to."

"Skip, you go. I'm not leaving," insisted Ron, not budging from his seat.

"Screw that, I'm not doing this alone. You know I can never remember who wants what. Everyone's favorites keep changing just as much as the schedule does. You're the brains of the Nut Operation."

"How can you even think about food at a time like this?" the red-head demanded, spinning his chair to face the other two. "Aren't you worried at all? Concerned? _Scared_?"

He spun his chair back around to look back at the clock, then soon dropped his head into his arms and groaned. Skip and Loiselle exchanged brief, knowing looks. The former sat back down in his chair and sighed, eyes locked on his despairing partner.

"Look, Ron," he stated, his voice soft and earnest, "we know. OK? We know you're scared. Hell, after everything you've been put through lately, I'm amazed you haven't been put in the grave by it yet. But you worry just a tad bit too much-"

"Oh, really?" Ron snapped back, picking his head back up, "Would you be saying that if it were Kristina in there? Or, God forbid, _Lily_?"

His words hit home. Skip gripped his chair so tight he almost crushed the armrests. His face changed from tired to pained in an instant. Loiselle gave a low whistle and sank down behind his book. There was a long, awkward silence. Ron looked at his friend sullenly.

"Sorry," he said.

"No," Skip sighed, waving his hand. "You don't have to apologize for it. I know where you're coming from."

His friend nodded. He clicked his tongue.

"But still," he went on to say, "even if it was Kristina, or Lily or Jenny, I don't know if I'd really be worried. Because I know, somewhere in them, they've got the fight to take care of themselves. 'Specially my Kris; that killer wouldn't stand a chance if he went toe-to-toe with her. Now, I haven't known Hermione all that long, but from what I've seen and heard, she sounds just the same. So relax a bit. I mean, seriously, it's not like she's gonna blow up the factory or-"

BOOM!

The moment he said that, a giant explosion rocketed from deep within the warehouse behind him. The sheer volume of it was enough to send Loiselle toppling out of his seat, book flying in the air and landing in the sink. Outside the van, the British wizards were falling and stumbling around, some trying to figure what was going on, the others just yelling out random stuff, none of it really useful.

Skip never looked back or blinked when the explosion hit. In fact, he hadn't moved at all. He just sat there, in mid-sentence, while outside, people were screaming bloody murder. Finally, he hung his head and sighed. Then he stood up, took his wand out of his pocket, and looked down at Ron.

"You wanna go in first, or should I?" he asked.

In an instant, Ron was on his feet. "Loiselle, Rodyle, Huntington, let's move!" he shouted, ordering everyone on their feet. Within seconds, they were outside and, with the British Aurors, making their way into the now burning building.

Hoping, praying, for a survivor.

-----

When that boiler blew, instantly, Hermione felt herself engulfed by the fiery waves it produced. The heat was so painful, it was almost unbearable. It licked every inch of her body, tearing at her skin, and she was afraid her skin would rip right off of her. It was that hot and painful.

When it was finally over, she laid spread-eagle on the ground, panting heavily in the de-oxygenized air. She felt so weak, so…_defeated_. Gradually, her strength returned, enough for her to pick her head up and look down to see just how badly the waves had hit her.

She didn't know what to make of it. The damage was not that bad, and yet, the damage was _very_ bad. There were a few burn marks, here and there, enough to leave some nasty scars for a while, and her clothes were terribly burnt, mainly from the heat. But it was the damage from the exploding boiler that had done some real damage. One small piece of metal had hit her in the head, leaving a nasty cut that had blood trickling down like a tiny river. Another, larger piece has struck her leg. She tried moving it and winced; it was badly sprained, some blood pouring from that as well, though more steadily and thickly. And- and this part horrified her to no end- a part of bone could be visibly seen from where the skin had been burned from her leg.

She looked around, trying to get her bearings. The once empty room was now fully aflame, licking every surface of the gray square dwelling. The remains of the boiler sparked, hissed, as the burning coals were exposed to the open air. She looked in another direction and-

There he was. Steadily proceeding towards her, taking his time. Almost walking straight through the flames, as if he were a part of them. And in his eyes, that very same fire burned all the more brightly, almost hungrily, as he once again closed in on his target.

She got up and began running again. Three steps in, she fell down. Her leg- it was just in too much pain. Scared out of her wit, she tugged at it and began limping towards the door as fast as she could. The whole time, she half-expected him to fire a curse straight into her back, but he didn't. He knew she was in poor condition. He would take his time. He would have fun with his kill.

Finally making it to the door, she slammed it shut and turned the lock. She turned and-

Found herself in a dead end. A locker room, long since abandoned, with only one way out and that was the way she had just locked. She was trapped.

Tears streamed freely down her face as she limped further into the room. This was it. No way out. She was going to die in this Godforsaken room, at the hands of this wand-wielding maniac, and there wasn't a damn thing she could do to stop it. She was at her wit's end. She was wounded severely. And she was unarmed. And this was how she was going to go.

She went into one of the lockers and closed it, and then proceeded to cry silently. Crossing herself, she said a prayer to God to keep her safe when her soul finally left this world. Then she said a quick prayer for her mother and her father, for Harry and for Ginny, for David and for Lindsay.

"And please, God," she whispered out a sob, trying desperately to keep herself together in her final moments. "Please keep Ron safe for me. Make sure that he's happy and that he finds someone who's perfect for him…" She let out a loud sob; fear had reduced her to this form. "God…let him know that I'm sorry for what I said to him…and…

"I love him…"

This last part was said so softly, even she could barely hear her say it. But say it she did- the fact that she had known, in some form or another, since the moment their eyes had first met on that train eleven years ago. She had always known it, and she had once said it to him with such sincerity, and now she was going to die with that said. So much was still left undone between them; so much unsaid.

BAM!

The door was blown off its hinges. Stifling a scream, she could do nothing but watch as he came into the room, his eyes scanning its contents for his prey. She gave herself another quick cross and muttered to herself the prayer that her mother had always told her before she had gone to sleep:

"_Now as I lay thee down to sleep, I pray the Lord, my soul shall keep. And if I should die before I wake, I pray the Lord, my soul…shall take_."

No sooner had she said this than when her locker door flung open, and she was once again face to face with her killer. There was no parlay this time; he just raised his wand until it was level with her face. His eyes were flat and expressionless.

"Don't worry, Granger," he said, all trace of civility gone. "It will all be over _very_ soon."

_Yes_, she thought, _I suppose it will_. She closed her eyes and waited painfully for the end to come.

"_Dev_-"

"EXPELLIARMUS!"

The spell struck the murderer's hand and sent his wand flying away from him. He clutched his hand and turned toward the door, an enraged look in his eyes.

Ron and Skip had barged in and were firing spell after spell at him. The room became alight with all sorts of red jets from several different spells, all harmful, all fired at their little friend.

Growling loudly, the assailant rolled, dodging the spells, grabbed his wand, and aimed it at the ceiling.

"IMPEDIMENTA!"

The curse shot off and destroyed a section of the floor above, enough for him to climb on through. Continuing to dodge the curses, he got up, ran, and jumped for the newfound exit, climbing his way through. Slip saw this, and decided to give him a little parting gift.

In a flash, he had a knife out and threw it skillfully. It flew straight through the air and embedded itself into the mystery man's leg.

He let out a terrible howl of pain, slipping a bit on his climb up but still holding strong. Gradually, he still managed to pull himself up, the knife ripping itself out and clattering to the floor when it hit a piece of hanging debris, until he finally slid out of sight.

Hermione fell out of the lockers. She would've hit the floor had Ron not been there to catch her. She rolled in his arms so that she was looking into the sweet blue eyes that stared back at her. Whatever restraints had been holding her emotions back were slowly losing their grip as she bit her lip upon seeing her savior, holding her, protecting her.

"Hermione," he gasped, breathless. "What happened? Where's Brownside? Did he hurt you? What-"

She completely lost it there. She bawled, loud and heavy, and buried herself into his chest. He had saved her once again; he had allowed her to live another day. He pressed her tightly against him, refusing to release her, and gently kissed the top of her head.

"It's OK, love," he whispered softly. "You're safe now…he's gone, he's not going to get you…"

And in that moment, everything was OK. There was no more tension between them. No more was there of the argument that had dominated over them the previous day. Yet again, they were back to their unspoken love for each other that had gotten through trial after trial time and again. He was her angel…he would protect her, no matter what.

And it was with that in mind that a smile managed to pass her lips as she fainted into her savior's arms.

* * *

Second-longest chapter. Sweet.

Well, I like it. That's enough, in my opinion. But any opinions from you, the readers, are also greatly appreciated. Next chapter's not that long, should have it posted soon, we shall see.

Alright, you know the drill. Review please!


	13. Confrontation

Chapter Thirteen is up.

This is a kinda short chapter and wasn't that hard to write. Quite a breeze, actually, and with a bit of twist at the end. So I do believe you shall enjoy.

maddie- Glad it's a mystery, 'cause that's what I'm going for. I will definitely produce a few LONG chapters, so stay tuned.

charma10- Excellent! That's the effect I was going for, and looks like I succeeded! Good to know! Thank you!

buffalo1fromSalem- Thank you, on both accounts.

Salemsoriginal99- Yes…that _would_ be something… (shifty eyes)

Ako- I saw the http thing, but no site. You have to space the words to get the site on there (example: www. yahoo. com.) I _think_ that's how it goes, anyway. Works for e-mails, so websites might be the same. On the other note, we'll just have to wait and see

Here we go.

* * *

Chapter Thirteen: Confrontation 

Ron slammed the shovel into the ground and wiped the sweat from his brow. He looked around at the bloodied, battered British Aurors that were continuing on with the job.

According to the officials, their friend had limped his way out of the warehouse only to find himself surrounded by the Aurors. It didn't matter to him; he just aimed his wand at the ground and fired off a curse the Aurors didn't really know but was powerful enough to leave this giant collapsed crater, enough of a diversion to get him out of their. Rodyle and Huntington, having been outside, got out with some minor injuries. Some of the other Brits weren't as lucky. They were still digging, two hours later, trying to find them and get them out.

Ron turned his gaze to Huntington, Rodyle, and Loiselle gathered around. Rodyle was tending her bruised arm from when a piece of granite had struck it; Huntington was bandaging the part where that large rock had smashed into his leg. Ron sighed.

"We're gonna need a wider perimeter set up," he told them. "I also want more Aurors around Hermione. Double protection."

He glanced back towards the van, where Hermione was surely fast asleep. She had really been banged up in that explosion. A couple of Healers and Lindsay had treated her as best they could, but what she really needed now was rest.

"This is getting serious," said Rodyle, rubbing her arm. "Whoever this guy is, he knows everything we're doing before we even execute it. This is twice now he's gotten a trap past us. And who's to say next time won't be worse?"

"Maybe he is watching us," Loiselle replied, looking up at the rooftops. "Follows what we are doing. Listens in on our meetings-"

"OK, dude, that's just creepy," Huntington shivered slightly.

"He might be right," Ron told him. "However he does it, he finds a way to counterattack our traps with his own. This means we have to monitor everything we do so we can be sure it doesn't happen again."

From behind him, there was a loud OOMPH! Skip had come down to join them, but had lost his footing and gone sliding to a rough landing on his butt.

"Jeez, he really doesn't take into account the landscaping, huh?" he asked, getting up and rubbing his sore bottom gingerly.

"What's the word?" his partner asked.

Skip straightened up and got serious.

"We sent out a tight search party all over the city," he said, "but found nothing. He's disappeared, and we have no leads as to where he went."

"What about Brownside?"

This question brought a sigh from the other one.

"We found him in one of the rooms further down the hall," he told them. "Let's just say there may have been a medal involved for this whole thing if Old Ironguts could've avoided getting his head turned into mashed potatoes."

"Then he's dead?"

"Oh yeah. He's dead alright."

It was a weird kind of feeling. For the longest time after Hogwarts, whenever he talked to someone who had fought under General Brownside's command during a war, they always said how they wanted nothing more than to see that bastard dead. Not so long ago, he would've said the same thing. And now, the fact that the man had finally kicked the bucket seemed foreign, as if the reality of it had not yet sunk it. Another realization, however, did.

"Damn it," he cursed, looking up towards the sky, in a helpless sort of tone. "I was _so sure_ it was him…"

"It's a weird feeling," said Rodyle, "that if he can kill Brownside, then that means none of us are really safe. He just placed a very large crack in our own sense of invulnerability."

"And if he keeps at it, who knows who will be next?" finished up Loiselle.

"Damn it!" Ron cursed again, more loudly this time. He looked back at Huntington. "Has McAllen owled back yet?"

"No, nothing."

"Damn…" The red-head ran his fingers through his hair impatiently. "Where the hell is he?? God, where the hell does he EVER go?!"

"I dunno, but sometimes, I wish he would stay the hell there," Loiselle muttered.

"Wherever he is, he'd better get over here fast," said Skip, sharing a long, grave look with his partner. "'Cause we're running out of time."

-----

_Wake up now._

No…

_You have to wake up now._

I can't…he'll be after me again…

_Hermione…wake up…_

No…

"Hermione?"

She jerked awake. Immediately, she regretted it, for opening your eyes so fast with blaring lights flashing in your face is not the best combination in the world. She blinked a few times, adjusting her eyes to the burning light. Slowly, it dissolved, and Lindsay's face soon came into focus. Her friend's face was one of deep concern.

Hermione blinked a few more times before everything that had just happened came back to her in a whirlwind. The mission into the warehouse…Brownside's "confession"…his murder…the chase…

"Did they get him?" she asked finally.

Lindsay bit her lip and shook her head.

"Sorry," she apologized softly. "They're looking for him, though. Everyone's been running around like mad. It's been crazy."

"Did Ron-?"

"He came in a few times to check on you. Probably would've been here to talk to you himself if he wasn't so hell-bent on his work. He's running everything now, y'know. With Brownside dead, it's his show."

Hermione closed her eyes. The memory of Brownside getting virtually decapitated still ran freshly through her minds. It wasn't like one could see someone get his head blown apart and not have it affect them.

"That was so awful."

"Brownside's death, you mean?"

"Yeah…it was like watching what happened to David all over again… along with everything that happened during the war…and even before that, at Hogwarts…"

She sighed. With that said, every horrid memory of the last ten, eleven years came floating back to her. The incident with the Whomping Willow… the battle in the Ministry of Magic… all the attacks, not to mention that final battle, during the war…and now the events of the last couple of days joined the ranks of the more brutal parts of her life.

"Why does this stuff always happen to me?" she asked. "I thought that part of my life was over… that my nightmare had finally ended, on that day that Harry died."

"The nightmare did end that day," replied Lindsay. "Voldemort was finally killed-"

"Then why does it feel like I'm just living another one? At least before Voldemort, I had my friends. Now Harry's gone, Ginny's gone, Ron's here but not really _here_…I've lost everyone. Except you."

"And THAT is one thing that's never gonna change," her friend stated defiantly, grabbing Hermione's hand and squeezing hard. "We're going to get you through this, Hermione. You're going to be OK."

Hermione looked out her window out into the now-night sky. Somewhere out there, a killer was waiting for the next possible opportunity to get to her. Yet in the comfort of their little van, she felt a sense of security that everything was going to be OK. she still had Lindsay. And she still had Skip and Huntington, and Rodyle and Loiselle, and all the other Aurors that were going to do whatever it took to see this man put behind bars and, hopefully, in front of a firing squad.

And, the best part of all…Ron was back, doing the exact same thing.

That thought provided a small ray of hope to a strong and doubtful mind.

-----

Ron walked calmly through the streets, arms in his pocket, whistling a tune to himself. It being so late at night, not many people were walking around him. Most were home in bed; probably the safest thing to be doing, in times like this.

The others had long since returned back to the van. They were gonna bring Hermione back to their headquarters and plan what they were going to do next. He had told them to go on ahead; he wasn't done yet. He just wanted to make one more sweep before turning in.

Walking through these streets, he couldn't help but be reminded of those Muggle stories his dad used to tell him as a boy (and, when they had learned about them, horror ones from Fred and George). Tales of Sherlock Holmes, and how he saved countless lives with the crimes that he solved. Tales of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde, the English scientist who had two personalities, one more twisted than the other. The one that now stuck out in his mind, however, was that of Jack the Ripper- the Muggle maniac who mutilated innocent women and then was never seen again. It was that story that had led to many sleepless nights at home.

Now, not only could he sleep through the story, he was willingly walking through the dark, dank streets. In a way, he could say this was a mix of those stories. Here he was, being the Sherlock Holmes, trying to stop the Jack the Ripper from killing another innocent woman. The Dr. Jekyll/Mr. Hyde thing had as-of-yet not come into play, but it probably would. At some point.

"_snap!"_

He stopped. He was now in a dark alley- I know, the last freaking place you wanna be when there's a mass murderer out there, right?-, seemingly alone. He smirked casually.

"Fancy running into you here," he said, quite calmly.

He turned around to find him standing there. All quiet, dressed in his usual disguise of trench coat and hat. From under his guise, he chuckled.

"You're definitely more alert than my usual victims," he said, in that low, gravelly voice.

"That's two things that set me apart from them," replied Ron, his smirk never leaving his face.

"And what would the other thing be?"

"That I'm not being your victim."

The man laughed again and began slowly walking around the Auror, not moving to attack. Just to talk. Ron took pleasure in seeing that he was limping, from where Skip had hit him with his knife earlier.

"You know," the killer said, "I do believe this is our first… _proper_ meeting. Interesting, considering the amount of time you've been trying to find me."

"It is," Ron agreed. "Usually, when I meet someone properly for the first time, the other person introduces themselves, but-"

"But?"

"Well, something tells me that's not going to happen, is it?"

"I see my reputation precedes me," the psychopath said with the shrug usually used by someone caught in the act. Ron just glared at him, keeping his smirk on.

"What do you want with Hermione?" he demanded, his voice dropping to a dangerous level.

"Well…it's not what I want with Hermione, per _say_," the fiend walked away from him two feet, stopped, and turned his head back to face the other.

"It's what I want with _you_, actually, that proves to be more of a challenge than killing that little bitch."

Now Ron's smirk left. For two reasons. For one, experience had past shown that no one called Hermione that and got away with more than a broken nose or a blackened eye. And two, the man's words confused him. This wasn't about Hermione? It wasn't even about all those other women and men he had killed?

It was about _him_?

"What do you mean?" he demanded. "What do you want with me?"

"Oh, I believe you know," the killer turned again, his voice also lowering to a somewhat threatening growl. "You just don't want to remember. Think back. Way back. To the war."

Here, Ron's face lost its remaining color. His fists clenched up at the memories of everything he had done, or been witness to, over the eight months he had been in the war. All the pain, all the suffering. All the deaths.

"I'm sorry if you were one of the people hurt by my mistakes," he said, with earnest sincerity. "But murdering innocent people is not going to make anything better, believe me. It just makes it worse-"

"Oh, you _idiot_!" the man snapped, impatience winning over him. "This isn't about one of the civilians you tortured, or the woman your partner raped, or any of that! Why don't you stop thinking with your heart and start thinking with your BRAIN?!"

And then, as he closed his eyes and thought back, Ron knew. Knew exactly what this man was talking about. Knew exactly what offense he was going on with his rampage for.

Yet this offense had probably been the only good thing he had done during the whole war…

-----

"_I'm not letting you do this," he said, raising his wand to the other. "I __**won't**__ let you do this."_

"_Are you serious?" he asked, with a hint of annoyance and amuse in his voice. "You mean to tell me that after everything we've been through, you've picked NOW of all times to grow a fuckin' conscience?"_

"_You've gone too far this time, mate. This is wrong, and you know it!"_

"_What IS wrong? Hell, what's __**right**__?" he ruffled up his hair with a carefree grin. "C'mon, Weasley. You used to be all about this kind of shit. You used to believe in it."_

"_Yeah, I also used to believe in Santa Claus. But at least HE never did the stuff I've seen you do!"_

"_Oh, so that makes me the bad guy?"_

"_YEAH, IT __**DOES,**__ ALEX!" Tears were freely streaming down the red-head's face. "We've ruined lives! Innocent lives! And we've taken lives away, too! And I'm not about to let you take another one!"_

_He raised his wand so that it was aimed right at his face. But before he could even say a word, his partner took out his own wand and aimed it at the girl's head. His carefree smile was gone now; in its place was a hideous snarl. Ron flinched._

"_So this is how it's gonna be, huh, Ronnie-boy?" the torturer demanded evilly, jabbing the teenager with his wand. "You're gonna pull your wand at your own partner instead of this little slut, who's been passing God only knows how much info to those bastards, and accuse HIM- not HER- of being the villain of this story? How is THAT justified??"_

"_Let her go, Alex," Ron demanded, not moving an inch. "You don't have to do this."_

"_You're right: __**I**__ don't," Cunningham twirled his wand along his fingers, and then pointed it dead at Ron. "You, however, do. That is, if you have any loyalty to this system at all, you'll put this fuckin' whore out of her misery."_

"_Stop it, Alex. I'm not killing anyone else."_

"_Oh, wake up and smell the fuckin' DECAF, Weasley! Look at everything you've accomplished! All the people you've tortured, all the places that were laid to waste because of what YOU'VE done. Face it, kid-" His evil look gained a smile that reminded Ron of a picture of a devil he had once seen. "You're a killer. That's all you'll ever be good for. What makes you think you can wipe all that away with just ACTING like a hero?"_

"_Maybe I can't," said the red-head, his hands shaking, and his voice quivering. "But that's the difference between you and me. I'm gonna at least __**try**__. While you're just gonna keep on doing what you're doing, thinking it's the right thing, until someday they're gonna give you your own cell in Azkaban for it! THAT's your future, Alex. __**Not**__ mine!"_

_He could see that he was enraging this man. But he didn't care. He hated him all the more for that. Hated him for turning him into who he had become. Hated him for all the terrible things he had done, and made he himself do, these last several months. But it ended here. he couldn't be forced to do it anymore. Cunningham sneered._

"_You ain't gonna kill her?" he demanded, his voice low and rising. "Fine. Then I WILL!"_

_He once again aimed his wand at the girl's head. She whimpered, scared for her life. What happened next went by so fast; no one was fully able to realize it until it was too late to do things over._

"_AVADA KEDA-"_

"_SECTUMSEMPRA!!!"_

-----

He picked his head up and opened his eyes again. This time, he held a twisted, almost pure evil glare at his murdering fiend.

"You make it sound as though that was _my_ fault," he snapped bitterly.

"Wasn't it?" the man asked him.

"No." He answered, firmly and defiantly. "I killed a murderer. I did everyone a favor-"

"Oh, a _favor_ was it?" the other sneered. "Well, that 'favor', as you so called it, still left some pretty nasty consequences, didn't it? After all, why else would you have left Hermione?"

Ron's fist clenched so tightly, the fingernails dug deep into his fist. Every instinct told him to whip out the wand and hex him good enough to finally figure out who this bastard was, but he resisted. He still needed some answers.

"What are you planning to do with that machine?" he asked. "Why are you trying to kill Hermione? What the hell does all this have to do with what I did? WHO _ARE_ YOU??!!!"

All the man did, however, was laugh at his growing rage.

"All in due time," he said. "You should learn to be patient. A good host never reveals the grand finale until it's time. I would advise, however, that you stay very close to your little girlfriend. She'll have to pay for your little '_favor'_ as well. And when that time comes…you'll finally get what you should've gotten those years ago."

And with that, he Apparated before Ron could even make a move towards him.

And leaving more questions asked than he had answered.

* * *

Ooh…I'm quite surprised yet pleased with how that worked out. It was perfect, if I may say. 

Well, though I'm pretty sure it'll be up sometime in the next week or so (I have the next few chapters pretty much sequenced out, so updating shouldn't be as rare as it's been these last few months), I'll go out and put a little teaser for you guys anyway:

_At that moment, their mouths collided in an explosion of heated passion. He brought her closer to him, and she wrapped his arms around his neck, standing on her tip-toes to be of near-equal height. As they fell against the wall, their passion only intensified, his mouth moving down to her neck, her fingernails clawing at his neck._

_It was pure, sweet bliss._

A little spiciness, perhaps? Maybe…

Anyhoo, review please!


	14. Good News at Last

Fourteen, up and ready for action.

Not an incredibly long chapter, but a pretty damn important one. For more than one reason.

Ako- Yes, I see it now. Thank you. I will be sure to check it out.

charma10- Pfft. Me? Bail on this story? Absurd! Insane! Unheard of! Heh, but seriously, I wouldn't even DREAM of bailing on this story, I love it, and I promised in an earlier chapter that the only time I'm done with a story is when the words "The End" appear on the bottom of the final chapter. Regardless of canon or not, though I _do_ like to stick with it when I'm writing using the actual characters from something, I already have a solid plan for the rest of this story, and whatever J.K. puts into _Deathly Hallows_ is not going to change that one bit. I give you my solemn word on that. And in response to your other question- yes, there are going to be more flashbacks. A _lot_ more.

Salemsoriginal99- I know who the killer is, but hold on to your opinion. If you're right when the time of unveiling comes around, then you win…I still haven't worked out what yet, but you win. And in response to your other question…well, why don't we just find out right now:

* * *

Chapter Fourteen: Good News at Last

"Hey."

Hermione picked her head up towards the door.

"Hey," she answered back.

Ron sat down opposite her at the kitchen table, a mug of coffee in his hand. He placed it down and gently slid it towards her.

"Figured you could use a cup," he said with a forced smile on his face. After what he had just been through in the last 24 hours, he wasn't really in a smiling mood.

It was the next day. The "Day After", as war survivors often called the day after a really long, bloody battle. The body of the deceased General had been buried almost haphazardly in a graveyard somewhere; a quick and painless deed. They were back at headquarters now, taking a break before diving back into their work. This time, Hermione didn't participate. She had had enough of walking into death traps for one week.

"Thanks," she answered back, grabbing the cup and taking a sip. It tasted good; just what she needed first thing in the morning.

Ron just studied her for a little while longer. He was amazed that she hadn't cracked yet. She had been through the most intensely gory action in the last 48 hours, and yet she was still mentally stable. She had been forced to go through what no woman should ever have to go through. Yet she was still, for the most part, OK. Maybe it was from the many years she spent as Harry Potter's best friend, or maybe it was the war, or maybe she was just desensitized by all the violence, but whatever the reason, she still kept it together.

That took the guts that she had always been known to have.

"Ron?" she asked suddenly. "Is something wrong?"

He snapped out of his thoughts. "No, why?"

"You've been staring at me for the last five minutes."

"Oh…I have?"

"Yes, you have."

"Sorry."

"It's OK…just a little weird."

They paused for a second, allowing Hermione to drink her coffee. Ron's thoughts then traveled to the events of last night. When he and the killer had come face to face. When the man had made that terrifying and puzzling revelation that even now left him in confusing dead ends and pointless ponderings. What the _hell_ did this have to do with Cunningham? Or Hermione? Or that giant machine that had been discarded out of their minds since Huntington had sent McAllen that owl, three days earlier? Instead of getting clearer, this case was just getting foggier by the minute. And, unless help came soon, it would only worsen from there.

"He got so scary by the end…"

Once again, she snapped him back to reality. He stared back at her. She had finished her cup and was staring at a spot on the table- or more, looking past the table, not seeing it. Reliving yesterday.

"Brownside?" he asked, knowing what she meant. She nodded. "How so?"

"The way he talked…" she said, snapping her eyes shut painfully. "He was clearly deranged…nothing at all like how we knew him. There was this look in his eyes…something happened to him, Ron. I don't know what, but something triggered in his mind that turned him from the man we knew from the war to a clearly insane man on the brink of death."

He pondered this for a second. Ever since he and Skip had discovered Brownside murdering that man two days before, the General had indeed not been like himself. He was just as quiet and stubborn as he always had been, but there had been something different to it, too. Edginess, possibly even fear. And from what Hermione had told them yesterday afternoon, he had crossed whatever boundaries of insanity there were left. He spilled secrets he, Ron, never even heard about. Yes, something had happened. What exactly, they might never know. But it was obviously something bad from his past.

"This guy…" He shook his head. "It seems like he's using our pasts against us. Mine, yours, Brownside's…everyone connected with the war."

"Or maybe just something in particular about the war…" said Hermione.

"But what? We weren't all there. You were patching up wizards in the field, Brownside was back in England most of the time, trying to direct the war effort- in more ways than one, apparently- and I…" he stopped himself, not wanting to finish that sentence up.

"…Tortured people for information…" she finished it instead, finally looking up at him.

"Yeah…"

They let that statement hang in the air for a moment. He didn't want to look at her; the shame of all that time ago kept stinging him, like a cut that would never heal. He finally managed to steal a glance up; her eyes were still fixed squarely on him, never lifting. He looked down again quickly, going red from shame and embarrassment.

He chuckled inwardly. He felt like he was in school again…

Then, to his surprise, her hands reached forward and grasped his gently. He looked back up. She gave him a little supporting smile.

"Ron," she said to him, "I know you don't want to talk about it. And I understand that, I really do. But what I don't understand…is why you left me over it. Why you thought I would never accept you because of what you did. But whatever that reason was…you were wrong."

He just sat there, too stunned to say anything. So she took that as the opportunity to continue.

"When I met you, on that train, at the beginning of our first year…for some reason, you were the one that really stuck out to me. And it wasn't because you were Harry Potter's friend…I didn't really know what it was then. But as the years went by, I began to realize it more and more…and yesterday, when I thought I was going to die and I'd never see you again…I figured it out. It was because you were you. As arrogant and pig-headed as you were- and are, don't get me wrong on that-, you're sweet and loyal and caring…and I love you all the more for it."

She finished there, it seemed. Leaving him, of course, completely breathless. He was now living the nightmare he had always feared would happen; coming to terms with Hermione about his involvement in the war. And she forgave him. She disregarded all the terrible things she never knew about, and told him it was OK. And, what's more, she was saying that she forgave him for leaving her, even if she didn't say it directly. In that one speech, she wiped away all the fears that had caused him to leave home three long years ago and replenished them with everything he had hoped to hear but never believed he would.

And she still loved him, despite it. She had said that part in present tense, not past. She still loved him…that sentence captured his mind, and, more importantly, his heart. She still loved him…

She took his silence as the end of the conversation, apparently, because she stood up suddenly. For the third time in that half hour, he snapped to and frowned.

"Well, um… I think I'd better go see the others," she said, "y'know, they're probably getting another plan together, and I'm gonna be needed, and-"

She never finished that sentence, for at that moment Ron, who had gotten up not long after her, had moved swiftly towards her, brought her hands to her face, and brought her lips to his.

It was the second time in three days that he had done that to her. And, just like in the Three Broomsticks, she was lost in that tingling feeling that he gave her whenever they kissed. It fulfilled that prayer she had made the day before; that he loved her, and that he was not going to leave her again, and never would, and that he was going to do everything he could to get her out of this horrible mess they had both landed in. It was just one kiss, but is said all the things that words and long-overused clichés could not. And she preferred that one kiss to those any day of the year.

They broke apart, their faces mere inches apart. Their eyes were yet again fixed on the other, breathing steadily.

"What…was that for?" she asked in a stunned voice.

"I don't really know," he said, just as shocked by his action. But then he grinned. "But it felt good."

"Yeah…it did."

At that moment, their mouths collided in an explosion of heated passion. He brought her closer to him, and she wrapped his arms around his neck, standing on her tip-toes to be of near-equal height. As they fell against the wall, their passion only intensified, his mouth moving down to her neck, her fingernails clawing at his neck.

It was pure, sweet bliss.

"Ron," she gasped, as he bit her neck gently.

"Mm?" he moaned.

"Maybe…maybe we should wait a little bit…take things slow-"

"Huh-uh…I waited long enough," was his firm response.

"…Fair enough," was the only response she could make, as she allowed herself to once again be lost in him.

"Ron-o, you're not gonna believe this- WOAH!"

The two instantly broke apart, redder than all of the Weasleys' hairs combined, as they faced an equally surprised Skip, standing frozen at his spot in the doorframe, a blank expression on his face. They looked at him, back at each other, and back at him.

"Ah…" Hermione gasped for something to say, to make it less awkward.

"Um…" Ron tried to help her, though could not come up with anything himself.

"Awk-_ward_," said Skip finally to fill the embarrassing void.

"We were just…um…" his partner began banging on the wall with his fist, "testing out the walls. Y'know, to make sure they're…not thin, and that… the enemy can't hear us through them…"

"Uh…huh…" was all Skip said on that. Then, putting on his devilish little smirk, he added, "I didn't know that lip-locking was part of the process to check the walls. I gotta remember to try that with Kristina the next time the termites dig through our kitchen."

Hermione looked away embarrassingly, trying to keep her face from turning any more red than it already had. Ron decided right then to change the subject.

"Did you want something?" he asked.

"Oh, yeah," Skip got to business, though lowered his smirk from devilish to happy. "We just got a bit of good luck come to us. If you can believe that."

"You caught him??" demanded Hermione, turning back to the other.

"I said good luck, not a miracle," the American answered. "Though it's pretty close. We just had a visitor come in. He's in the living room."

"Who-?" But then Ron realized. His face lit up faster than a tree in a forest fire as a big smile stretched across his face.

"McAllen."

"Yup," Skip said; his smile alone not able to express the glee he was feeling. "Ole' Cup o' Joe walked in not five minutes ago. All piss and vinegar, as usual. But he's here."

"Come on!" Excitedly, Ron grabbed Hermione's hand and rushed both of them out the door, Skip right behind them, to greet their first shred of good luck that week.

-----

Joseph McAllen was of Irish decent, hailing from the burbs of Trenton, New Jersey- he had an accompanying _Joy-zee_ accent. At twenty-eight years of age, he was a middle-height and well-built, with beady gray eyes, a stout nose, and a purple ski cap covering up a mess of blonde hair. Now, there were three interesting facts about McAllen. One was that he loved to fool around with Muggle technology, like computers and radios; said they often helped him out better than magic did. On particularly tough missions, he usually used a laptop or a large mainframe to solve the case. The second fact was that he was a coffee fiend; whenever one saw him, he was either pouring himself a cup of coffee, drinking a cup of coffee, or just finishing up a cup of coffee. It got to a point where his co-workers joking referred to him as "Cup o' Joe" McAllen.

And the third fact was that he had the mouth of a trucker and it usually went faster than the Road Runner from Loony Tunes.

As Ron, Hermione and Skip walked in, instantly, the Irishman was on his feet and advancing on them, yelling for all it was worth.

"What the GODDAM hell is so GODDAM important that you had to DRAG me out of my GODDAM vacation FOUR FUCKIN' GOD DAMN DAYS _EARLY_??!!!" he demanded.

"Nice to see you too, McAllen," Skip muttered sarcastically, moving over to the coffee machine.

"I had JUST made it to Disney," continued McAllen on his tirade. "I haven't been to Disney in twenty years, and _finally_, I thought I could go, and relive my childhood. And the minute, no, the _second, _that I set foot in Epcot, what do I get? No, don't answer that. I'll TELL you what I get. I get a goddam _owl_, stabbin' me- in the ASS- with its beak, and an urgent letter tellin' me to drop everythin' I'm doing, because MY services are needed, in LONDON-MOTHER-FUCKIN'-_ENGLAND!!!"_

"Hey!" Ron shouted. "Will you watch the mouth, please? There're women present."

He motioned to Hermione, who waved meagerly. The newer man just grunted, looked back at Ron, and let out a frustrated sigh.

"What do you want?" he demanded.

"The case has taken a new turn," Ron told him, getting down to business. "A turn that your expertise is particularly needed in."

"Yeah? And if it's so goddam important, then why ain't Brownside here to tell it to me?"

"Because as of yesterday, Brownside's lying in a graveyard somewhere with an exploded skull," answered Skip, sipping his coffee.

McAllen whipped his head towards him, a disbelieving look on his face.

"You're shittin' me," he said. "They got Old Ironguts?"

"Yup," the other replied. "Particularly gruesome affair. And who's to say it won't happen to anyone else? Mainly, her." He nodded to Hermione again.

McAllen sat down in a chair, taking it all in.

"Damn…" he said softly, more to himself. "I mean…_Jesus_…Huntington, get me a cup of that shit, I need it bad."

Huntington poured a cup of coffee and slid it to the Irishman, who grabbed it and slowly inhaled the smell through his nose and then poured it in sips down his throat. Ron took the seat opposite him.

"Our killer's planning something," he told him urgently. "I don't know what, you don't know what, no one does, but it's coming. Sooner than late. And if that does happen, I've got a feeling we're all dead. We really need your help, McAllen. We can't do this on our own."

The hacker studied him hard for a moment, then looked around at all the others. All of them wore the same grave expression on their faces, signaling to him that this was for real. He took a few more sips of coffee, contemplating all the information he had just been given. Then, finally, he looked at Ron and nodded.

"Aiight, aiight, I'm in," he agreed, his head bobbing up and down quickly. "Whaddya need?"

Ron grinned, then slid him the file with the picture of the machine in it.

"We need you to identify this," he told him.

McAllen opened the file and held the picture up to the light, examining it thoroughly. He frowned.

"Hmmm….huh…" were some of the noises he made as he studied it. it was an annoying habit of his; when he studied something, he would make all those noises, thrown in with some "interestings" and "how 'bout that's." it annoyed everyone to no end, least of all Rodyle. Finally, she let it out.

"Well? What is it?"

"Tell ya the truth," he shrugged, "ain't really sure. I mean, at first glance, looks like your standard G-64 T-28, but the frame's way too wide…old Ram Rodders sometimes are this big, but they don't have multiple output holes…"

He stood up, picture in hand. He looked at Ron.

"Alright, I'm gonna need a mainframe," he told them. " Monitors, hard-drives, servers, keyboards, and a shitload of coffee, whatever else you can grab, grab it, I'm gonna want all of it. I'll run this through there, and, if my luck of the Irish holds, in twenty-four hours, I should have your results."

"Alright, then don't waste time talking to us. Get going."

He nodded and began to walk out when Ron stopped him.

"Hey, McAllen?" The Irishman turned. He smiled. "We're really glad you're here, mate."

McAllen let out a long, tired sigh.

"Yeah, well… I'm not."

* * *

End of chapter. I think it's good here. Less than half an hour before _Deathly Hallows_ comes out. Sweet.

If any of you are at the premiere, I hope you all enjoy the book, and please, for the love of God: **DON'T TELL ME ANYTHING ABOUT IT IN THE REVIEWS!** I know, you probably won't, but still, I'll probably pick the copy up in a day or two ( I usually get lucky that way) and I'll find out what happens then. So, keep any details to yourself, I beg of you.

That said, review please- and happy readings, both this story and Harry's (possibly?) last.


	15. Kidnap

And we are in the fifteenth chapter now.

Before I go any farther, I want to take this opportunity to say: **THANK YOU, EACH AND EVERY ONE OF YOU, WHO HAS READ AND REVIEWED AND ADDED THIS STORY IN AS FAVORITES OR ALERTS IN THE LAST TEN MONTHS!!!**

What's brought this about, you ask? Well, as of these last two chapters, this story has landed 73 reviews and over seven _thousand _hits, with each chapter taking in from 200 hits to 2,000 hits. In addition, it has also made 16 favorite stories lists and 38- yes, three dash eight- alert lists. And it's all because of you, the readers.

Thank you all, each and every one, for all the supportive reviews and words of encouragement you have given me. It is extremely helpful to me as a writer, as I wish to pursue writing as a career. All your generosity has turned this story from a random idea do the No. 1 Most Read and Widely Enjoyed story I have ever written. Words cannot begin to describe my gratitude, so I will just say: _thank you_.

Now, with that said:

charma10- I finished reading it, and I LOVED IT!!! Oh my God, that was such a good book, and I don't know what people have been muttering about (I've just heard little things, not plot-revelations, beforehand); I personally believe that book did Ron and Hermione great justice. And the ending- _niiice_.

Now, whereas last chapter was _good_ news, this one…not so much.

Read on, and you shall se why:

* * *

Chapter Fifteen: Kidnap

"_It's finally ready…"_

"_Yes, sir."_

"_Good. Now I can finally carry out my plans. It'll take that hacker a day to figure out what we're doing. By then…it's not gonna matter anymore."_

"_What about Weasley? Don't we need him?"_

"_That we do. I don't suppose paying them another visit would hurt any. Quite the contrary, it might make things better."_

"_And the girl?"_

"_I think I'll leave her to you, Flint. After all, I do like to reward my men for their assistance."_

"_Thank you, sir. I'll make sure to take care of the job."_

"_Good to hear…"_

-------------------------------------------

"So that was McAllen?" asked Hermione, sitting with the other Aurors outside in the yard.

"_Oui_," Loiselle answered, slicing of a piece of apple and popping it into his mouth. "Nasty little prick, huh?"

"He's the best we've got, Loiselle," Ron told him. "And we need him."

"I know, I know…does not make him any less of a dickhead, though."

Hermione actually managed a bit of a laugh here. It surprised even her; she couldn't remember the last time she had truly laughed. But here it was- the first beautiful sunny day all week, their cavalry had finally arrived and was hard at work, they were outside, talking and not arguing over their despondent case of the last few weeks. A peaceful outing on this quaint little day.

"You sure seem happy," said Huntington, popping a grape into his mouth.

"Do I?" she asked, just as cheery.

"Yeah, what's up? You look like you just woke up from a long night of a good-" Rodyle was cut off by Skip.

"Well, I, for one, think it's great, seeing Hermione smiling," he said. "Good to get away from the doom and gloom for a bit."

"Yeah," Huntington lay back and put his hands under his head, letting out a pleasant sigh. "This is the boring part for us. All we gotta do is wait for McAllen to get the results and then we wrap it up."

"Yeah, once he comes in, it's pretty much game over."

"So," said Ron, placing himself right behind Hermione, his hands moving to her shoulders, "what do you all say that today, we take it a bit easy?"

"You mean day off?" Loiselle raised an eyebrow.

"You sure, Ron? I mean…case isn't over _yet_," Skip pointed out.

"You said it yourself: this is the boring part," the red-head said in response. "So today, we get bored. We lie on the grass, go inside for some food, play some Exploding Snap. Anything to keep our minds off it, for one day, while we let Whiz Kid in there mop this thing up."

He raised a good point. If anyone deserved a break, it was them. Brownside would've never permitted one, of course, but then again, Brownside was getting the ultimate break at the moment, so there couldn't be any harm in doing the same. Right? Loiselle looked at Rodyle, who shrugged. Huntington continued to look up at the peaceful sunny sky. Skip shrugged.

"Alright, I suppose it wouldn't hurt," he said finally. "But we're not leaving the yard. You hear? We stay right here all day."

"That works," Loiselle agreed. "What could possibly happen right on the home front?"

-------------------------------------------

"_We all understand the plan?"_

"_Yeah…but why isn't he coming with us?"_

"_Because, you idiot. He still has to make the final preparations to the machine."_

"_It isn't even DONE yet?"_

"_Do you pay attention to __anything__ he says to you? It _is_ done. He just needs to set the proper coordinates. You don't want it to be off, do you?"_

"_No, of course not."_

"_Didn't think so."_

"_But why are we grabbing the girl? I thought he was trying to kill her. Or was yesterday just a joke?"_

"_He wasn't really gonna kill her. The whole thing was for dramatic effect. You couldn't tell?"_

"_No. How could I? Did you see the way that guy's head exploded? I thought he was being serious."_

"_The girl's of no real matter to him, he wouldn't give a damn one way or the other. It's Weasley he wants. The girl's just bait."_

"_Why exactly does he want Weasley?"_

"_Because of what he did during the War. Of what he did to that guy. He wants to break him down so he's completely destroyed before he kills him."_

"_I see…"_

"_Alright, tell Brian we're moving."_

"_Sure thing."_

-------------------------------------------

Hermione smiled as Lindsay stated giggling at something Huntington had said. The group was basking in the sunlight, sitting amongst the grass. Rodyle and Loiselle were off a ways, getting some kind of tan. Skip was writing a letter to his wife and daughters. And Huntington was entertaining Lindsay, who was once again flirting with him at every chance she got.

"Brings you back, doesn't it?" Ron asked, his arm around her waist affectionately.

"What, us?" she laughed. "I don't think we were ever like that."

"Not necessarily of us…just back to school."

Hermione nodded. It did remind her of seventh year. A time with Harry and Ginny, with the four of them by the lake at Hogwarts, right after a class or an exam. It was those two that had been more of the classic couple; all she and Ron did half the time was argue about the littlest things. Though, sometimes, she did like the way they argued; it defined what they were and who they were, separate from other more clichéd pairings. But it was Harry and Ginny who would've been more suited for this type of day.

"I really miss them," she said sadly.

"I don't think there's anyone who doesn't," Ron agreed. "Life was a lot simpler when they were still around."

"Yeah…back then, we only had the most powerful evil wizard on the planet to worry about, right?"

He laughed a little at this.

"I miss them a lot," he added when he had sobered up. "But I know they wouldn't want us mourning their being gone. Harry at least wouldn't. He did it for us. And it's not like Ginny's gone forever. We'll see her again."

"You make it sound like you're staying."

He stopped. She had gone serious now. Her eyes were fixated on him.

"We never discussed it," she said. "What's gonna happen after this, I mean. Are you going home, or are you staying here?"

It had not been discussed, Ron thought, because he had never really thought about it before. He had been so wrapped up in the case and Hermione and getting all of it to the end that he had never stopped to think of what would happen _after _the end. Would he go back to New York, back to his flat and his new life? Or would he remain here, where he belonged, where he knew he belonged?

Which was with her?

"I don't know," he finally said, tightening his little hug around her. "I haven't really thought about it. It's all so confusing right now. I want to stay here, but my job's back there, so…it's a dilemma, you see."

She nodded understandingly, though she really didn't like it all that much. The thought of him leaving again, leaving her here, to go back to how she used to live, gave her gloomy chills. She had missed his warmth so much, and now that it was back, she didn't want it to leave.

"If you _could_ stay, though," she said, "would you?"

"Of course I would," he insisted, without a pause or a second thought. "Of course I would stay."

He had almost said, _Now that I know you're here._ But he didn't. Because it still wasn't entirely clear where "they" were.

Apparently, she had been thinking the same thoughts. For she snuggled her back against his chest.

"So where does this leave us?" she asked now. "Because I refuse to believe that you would snog that good for just any girl."

"Oh, I snog well, do I?" he retorted with a laugh.

"Mmhmm."

"Well, if that's what you think of it-"

He leaned in and kissed her again, just as tender as the first one had been before. She giggled and fell sideways, taking him down with her. They lay in the grass for a few moments just snogging, not caring that Lindsay was probably bursting out with laughter at that moment. It was back at Hogwarts, back in their 7th year when no one else was around. When they finally broke apart, their eyes were locked together, not moving, not blinking. He smiled, that goofy lopsided smile he had always had back in school.

"I think it's kinda obvious what we are," he finally answered her. "At least, what we both want it to be."

She smiled back. Right here, right now, was perfect.

"Aw…so _touching_."

Both jerked up at the new voice. Ron's wand was out and forward. Behind him, Skip had his wand out in one hand and a knife in the other.

A small group of men, about ten of them, had suddenly appeared on what they had thought had been Unplottable ground, their supposedly protected little area. It reminded him of a mix between the Death Eaters and some random, grungy group. They were all rough looking, dirty looking, like they had come from the outskirts of town. Some looked like they hadn't shaven in days, maybe even weeks. The one who had spoken was probably the only somewhat neat one there, and as he stepped forward, Ron instantly recognized him.

"Marcus Flint," he said bitterly. "They let you out of Azkaban, did they?"

"Good behavior," was all Flint said. The former Slytherin Quidditch captain had that evil grin plastered on his face.

"Somehow, I doubt any behavior of yours is a good one," Skip came back with snidely.

"Ooh, this one's got a smart mouth, eh?" This remark came from a rugged man with a crooked set of teeth that twisted vilely into a sneer. "Maybe we should do somethin' about it, huh?"

"Brian," Flint ordered, "stand down. You know why we're here."

"Yeah, but he DID say to get the girl _by any means necessary._ Doesn't look like they're gonna just hand her over."

At this, Ron put his arm in front of Hermione, keeping her shielded. The other three Aurors had come up, their wands out as well.

"Hermione, Lindsay, get inside," he ordered.

"Ha. 'Get inside'. Like we can't just get 'em after we're done with you." The owner of this one was a short, gruff man with a scraggily beard and a sarcastic attitude owned by a Southern accent.

"Got some nerve, coming onto our turf like that," Skip's smirk stretched on his face. He could already feel his fingers whipping the knife. It felt like game time.

Flint ignored him, and kept his eyes on the red-head. Or, rather, the girl behind the red-head.

"I really don't think I need to ask, do I?" he asked. "Just hand her over, and we'll all go our merry little way."

"Fat chance," said Ron, wand gripped tighter. "You're not taking anyone. And you're not laying a hand on her."

His old adversary laughed.

"You say that as if you have a say in the matter."

Suddenly, Flint whipped his wand out and fired a spell right at him. Ron repelled it, sending it into the river with a big splash. The former Slytherin sneered.

"But, unfortunately, you don't."

What happened next happened at the snap of a finger. The guys with Flint suddenly sprang forward, firing curses like a hailstorm. Skip had thrown his knife at the scruffy looking guy, who sent it flying into a tree and then a curse flying at the American, who dodged it. He fired a curse back, also reflected.

Loiselle and Rodyle were now fighting three apiece. Ron was busy fighting Flint, who had apparently retained at least some of the knowledge they had learned in school, however dumb he had been then. He dodged a curse and looked back at Huntington.

"Cam! Get them inside!" he ordered.

"Right, man!"

Huntington grabbed Hermione and Lindsay by the arms and led them to the house. The way there seemed like it had had the day before, during the attack; like a goal so near, yet farther with every step. Hermione wrenched her arm away and ran on her own. They were almost there…

"_STUPIFY_!"

Everyone heard it, but there wasn't time for a warning even if they had seen it. The Stunning Spell hit her with full force, like a hammer hitting a nail on the head. She did indeed look stunned, as her wand slipped out of her hand and fell to the ground. Then she fell, slowly it seemed, as though it were a dream, and hit the ground with a thud.

That guy Brian sneered, his wand pointed right at her fallen figure, a small puff of smoke coming up from the end of it. He held the tip in front of his mouth and gently blew the smoke away.

"Brian, now."

"_No_!"

Huntington fired off a Reductor Curse, but Brian just reflected it back and hit its sender with it. Then he and two other men leapt in and grabbed the unconscious woman. Ron ran towards them, firing whatever spell came to mind.

"HERMI- AAH!"

He was tripped, by a long coil that had been conjured up by the gruff man that had been fighting Skip. Ron, truly desperate now, tried to crawl to her just as Loiselle and Rodyle were thrown backwards by Flint. He was halfway there when his captor fired another coil that wrapped his arms up tight. As Ron continued with his struggle, the man put his foot on his back and dug it in deep.

"Like cattle," he said snidely. "What a pathetic kid."

"Pickett," Flint ordered, as his men began retreating. "Let's _go_."

"Roger," Pickett kicked Ron roughly away and gave him that smug little grin. "See ya in the funny papers, kid."

"HERMIONE!!!"

Ron's screams were to no avail. Brian and the other two carried Hermione and carried her to the forests' edge, where they promptly Disapparated. Skip and Rodyle fired curses after them, but Flint and Pickett covered them and the rest of their men as they retreated to their extraction point. When the last man was across, Flint flashed them one more evil grin as he and his cohort took that one step back and then disappeared into nothingness.

The silence that followed afterwards seemed worse than anything else that had happened.

Skip bent down and, with one of his knives, cut the coils holding Ron together. When he was free, the red-head sat up, looking utterly defeated. His partner patted his shoulder.

"You alright?" he asked.

"No," said Ron bitterly, slamming his fist onto the ground. "They got her. They took her and I couldn't do a damn thing about it. And we have no working leads and our leader's dead and we've just been handed a good beating… this whole thing just sucks!"

He slammed his fist on the ground again. Skip looked around at the battlefield. Grass was burnt up, trees were chipped, and the flowers were drenched from the waves caused by misfired curses. In just a short amount of time, their yard had been turned into a war zone. He sighed.

"Yeah…you wanna know the worst part?"

"What?"

He looked back at his friend and sighed.

"We're not even supposed to be on duty this week…"

* * *

Ooh, cliffhanger. Now what shall become of our beloved brown-head?

Tune in next time to find out. Review please!


	16. Prisoner

And sixteen chapters in now.

charma10- it really wasn't supposed to be that long between updating times, but right when I got back from my Vermont trip, I got into the biggest funk and couldn't write anything. This took longer than I thought too, but from here, it gets real good.

Mione-Girl.x- Thanks. I've actually read your Destiny story, didn't realize that was yours until I checked your profile (I do that a lot; I've read something of a reviewer's and don't recognize them 'til I see it.), but it's good. Keep up with that.

iheartdrummers- Like I've said before, Skip's just a ton of fun to write and he's my favorite, as well as a lot of peoples'.

Salemsoriginal99- actually, you just have to read last chapter to get an understanding of why the guy wants Ron. Flint talks to someone about it in one of the italic paragraphs.

Wow, OK, uh, I know it has been ages since I have updated…yet again… I really need to stop doing that. This chapter was fun to write, especially a little further down, but I'm just a lazy son of a bitch who couldn't get it finished. Sorry. My bad. I'll try harder next time.

Alright, here we go.

* * *

Chapter Sixteen: Prisoner

The first thing Hermione saw when she woke up was rough, granite floor. The first thing she felt was slimy coldness on her skin, caused by the dank feel of the floor. She sat up and looked around at the stone-gray surroundings. The room…it felt so familiar, yet she couldn't remember from where…though it couldn't have been that long ago…

"Ah, you're awake."

She whipped around fearfully. Flint and Pickett were sitting by or on one of the tables, apparently having been keeping guard over her. Pickett slid off the desk, staring at her with a stare Hermione didn't like one bit.

"Where am I?" she demanded.

"Thought you would've recognized it," Flint said, waving his arms around. "How many times were you down here over the years, Granger?"

She looked around again. Again came that nostalgic feeling, but again, she couldn't think of from where. She went back to them.

"I don't understand," she said. "Where are we? What do you want from me? What are you planning to do?"

"I love it when they do this," laughed Pickett. "They ask all these questions as if they think we'd actually answer them."

"Why won't you?"

"All in due time, Granger," Flint replied, moving towards the door. "C'mon, Pickett. We've gotta tell him she's up."

"Alright," the gruff man replied. But as his partner retreated out the door, he stayed behind and moved closer to the poor girl, that devilish look back on his face.

"You'd better be careful, kid," he said to her, in a low whisper that made her shiver fearfully. "You don't got Weasley here to protect you anymore, and it's only one girl against a bunch of men. And you don't got no wand to do your fancy little tricks with. So think about that for a sec."

"Pickett," Flint's voice called from out in the hall.

"Yeah, hold on," the other called back, and then looked back towards Hermione.

"You'd better sleep with one eye open tonight, girlie," he continued. "Cause we've been shut up here a long time with no action, and a lot of us are gettin' quite restless, if yeh know what I mean-"

"_Pickett_."

"I'M COMIN'!!!" Pickett shouted back, red in the face with anger. "God _damn_ it," he exclaimed, getting up.

As he was at the door, he gave Hermione one last look. One last evil smile.

"See ya later, kid." And then he closed the door.

Hermione backed into a corner and brought her knees up to her chin. She was scared; tears were beginning to fall down her face. Because there would be no help for her this time. She was a prisoner here, and these men, these terrible men, were holding her. And would do God only knew what else.

_Ron…help…_

----------------------------------------

"Ron, calm down-"

"Calm down?!" Ron exclaimed, whipping around. "They've got Hermione! We have no idea where they're holding her- what they might be DOING to her- and you want me to _calm down_??"

"Yes, Ron," replied Skip calmly. "That's exactly what I want. I want you to calm down. It's not going to help at all if you're freaking out and being all panicky."

Loiselle covered his eyes with his hand. Rodyle pushed her hair out of her face in frustration. Ron kept pacing, ignoring Skip's comment.

"So what do we do now, then?" he demanded.

"We wait 'til McAllen gets the results, and then we make our plan from there," Skip answered. "But until then, we have to wait."

"_Wait_?" Lindsay exclaimed, before Ron could even open his mouth to complain. "Hermione could be dead by then! We have to find her _now_!"

"And where do you suggest we look?" demanded Rodyle. "We have no leads, no clues as to where they could be. They could be anywhere from here to China by now. There's no way to tell for sure."

"She's right, Lindsay," said Huntington, putting a hand on her shoulder. "There's nothing to go on. We'll have to just wait."

Lindsay shoved his hand away and began pacing, fuming. Ron did the same. Skip watched both of them and with every turn they made, his annoyance was growing with it. Sure, the situation was bad, but it wasn't over with yet. They still had a chance.

"Cam," he said to the brown-haired member. "Why don't you go ahead and take Lindz home? And stay with her."

Huntington frowned. "You sure, dude? Aren't you gonna need me here?"

"If something comes up, we'll contact you. In the meantime, just keep her safe."

The younger man looked around at the others. He didn't want to leave; a situation could change, in a heartbeat, and at the moment, the team could use every Auror they could get their hands on. But the others- Rodyle and Loiselle, at least, for Ron was still freaking out- agreed with Skip. He nodded.

"Alright," he said. "Let me know when something's happening."

--------------------------------------------

She knew where she was now.

It had taken her a couple of hours of looking around a gray, lonely, half-leaking room, but she finally had an idea of where her captors had taken her. How she had not recognized it immediately somewhat concerned her, but it wasn't high on her list of things to worry a great deal about. Right now, she just couldn't believe she was back here, of all places.

The only question, however, that kept plaguing her was why. Why had they brought her here? But as she thought about, she figured that being here now was probably smarter than anywhere else. She couldn't believe she had never thought to check here before.

Would Ron think to check?

The door opened again, and her head picked back up to see who it was. To her immediate horror, it was Pickett, bringing in a tray of food- a sandwich and some lumpy mashed potatoes, to be precise.

"Here," he said, putting the tray on the near-by table, "Boss figures you could use some grub."

He caught her looking around the room and he broke into his grin again.

"Figured it out yet, have yeh?" he asked.

"I'm impressed," she said, somewhat ruefully. "I had thought this whole place had come down by now."

"Yeah, he had to rebuild a lot of the place with magic before we could move in. This room was one of the only ones that wasn't damaged severely. Boss figured it would be best to put you in here, if that were the case."

"And who exactly is _he_?"

She had asked this, fully expecting him to scorn her for asking questions that would never be answered. This time, however, he didn't. She must have asked a question that was vague enough that it could be answered without revealing too much. He took out a pocket knife and a loaf of bread from his own pouch and cut a piece of it for himself. He popped it in his mouth and chewed it around for a while, contemplating what to say.

"He's a brilliant man," he said. "He was involved in the war, though no one knows whose side he was on. I suspect he was on the Ministry's side, because he always refers to Voldemort as a 'third-rate crackpot.' Then again, he took in our group, and a lot of us were just comin' back from the Death Eater side of the war. Whatever the case, he's an excellent scientist, and also an incredible wizard. If he wanted to, he could do what Voldemort did and go for the world. But he don't really want that."

Hermione didn't bother asking who he was or what he did want, because she knew she wouldn't get an answer. She already had an idea. He wanted revenge for the war, for what they all did during it, but for what crime, she didn't know.

"He's doing all this just to get revenge?" was what she did ask.

"I suspect there's more," Pickett replied, getting another slice of bread and putting it into his hungry mouth. "But he don't like to let everyone know everything, so he only tells certain people."

That ended that. Pickett was probably low on the chain if he didn't know what was really going on. She would get no farther asking him for answers.

And then, he put the knife and bread on the table and slung his pack off. His facial expression changed, too. He stood up; so did she. She didn't like this one bit, but it had been exactly what she had been expecting.

"You worry too much, girlie," he said, his voice that low whisper again. "You should learn to just sit back. Let things happen."

"Don't come any closer," she warned him, her own voice low and venomous.

He smirked. Then, in a surprise move that was a blur to her mind, she was up against the wall, him pinning her by her arms, his face inches from hers, close enough for her to smell the bread- and obvious Firewhiskey- that he had had.

"Like I told you before," he growled, "it's just been us up here all along, and most of us are feelin' up to a little bit of action-"

He leaned in then, but with all her strength, she kicked him in the gut and pushed him backwards, over the table and onto the floor. The table went with him, the food spilling onto the granite and making a mess. Pickett, however, took no notice. He stood back up, unfazed despite the blow, and went at her again. Hermione, in a last ditch attempt, sat up on a cabinet, and, when he came close enough, landed another hard kick, this time straight to his face.

There was a loud _crack!_ and a howl of pain and Pickett again fell backwards, clutching his heavily bleeding nose. His hands came away, and Hermione was repulsed at his blood-caked face, the bit of bone that was protruding from his nose-were her shoes really that heavy?- and the demon-fire look in his eyes.

"YOU _BITCH_!" he screamed. "I'LL TEACH YOU TO MESS WITH ME!"

He grabbed his knife off the ground and ran at her again. She kicked, but he dodged, grabbed her leg, and yanked her to the ground harshly. She let out a cry of pain, but he ignored it, instead straddling her and pushing the blade lightly against her neck. He looked insane; he looked as though he might actually do it.

"PICKETT!"

He whirled around. Then he quickly got up and away from her, and in doing so, she got to see who it was.

Face still shrouded in hat and coat, his hard eyes glaring at his crony, the killer stood at the door, dressed in his attire even now and still shrouded in his cold mystery. Flint stood next to him, also looking at Pickett with disappointment.

"What the hell are you doing, you damned idiot?" the murderer asked with calm annoyance, almost carefree.

Pickett said nothing. He just glared daggers at Hermione, who his master had next turned to.

"Ah, I see that our guest is now awake. Lovely," he said.

He turned to Flint. "If you left now, how fast do you think you could get to the platform and back?"

"I take my ten, a couple hours, tops."

"Then I suggest you get moving. Take him with you," he inclined towards Pickett. "Makes sure he cleans himself up, too. He looks atrocious."

"Gee, I wonder why?" Pickett grumbled. His boss gave him a cold glare. "I'm goin', I'm goin'…"

He walked out, not taking his evil stare off of Hermione until he was finally out of sight. Flint nodded to him, then to her, and then walked out after the other. The noise of the two arguing down the hall could be heard, getting fainter and fainter until it was gone completely.

This left Hermione alone with her once-murderer. This scared her more than being stuck with Pickett did. The man kneeled in front of her calmly, and she saw he had no wand on him.

"Your little Weasley friend is going to figure out we're here sooner or later," he said. "So it's best we be well prepared for the little…_gathering_."

"And then what will you do?" she asked meekly.

"Oh…have some fun. It's been way too long since either of us have had some good fun."

He stood up again, and took something out of his pocket. She tensed, fearing a wand or a knife, but instead it was a picture. He flicked it to the floor and pushed it towards her with his foot.

"Found this in one of the rooms," he told her. "I would imagine you would want it back."

And with a tip of his hat, he turned and walked out of the room, as though he owned the place. Which he probably did, of course. The door closed behind him with a loud THUD. Hermione looked down at the picture, which was laying face down, and bent down to pick it up and flipped it over in her hand.

Her breath tensed up. Tears began to swell up in her eyes again. It was a picture of them, the four of them, on the day of hers, Ron's, and Harry's graduation. Ron's arm was around her shoulders, Harry's was around Ginny's waist. All four of them were laughing, their faces so happy. She sniffed, and sat back against the wall, clutching the picture against her heart.

What had they ever done to deserve this…

------------------------------------------------

Back at the Auror headquarters, Ron was staring at a copy of the same picture. He had just found it, hidden deep in one of his old books, and now he couldn't take his eyes away from it.

He missed them, all of them, but his sadness was also met with a fierce determination to make up for it all. He had lost Harry, and had cursed himself for it, because he had not been there to save him. He would not lose Hermione, too. He refused to lose her too. He would get her back, and put an end to this, once and for all. He swore it.

"What're you looking at?"

He looked up as Rodyle sat down in the other chair. He looked at the picture, and then leaned over to hand it over to let her see.

"Aw," she said, smiling at the happy faces, "when was this?"

"Graduation," he answered, sliding down with his hands folded on his chest. "My parents took it. Thought it looked cute."

"It does. This was when you and Hermione were going out?"

Ron looked down and twiddled his fingers.

"Actually…same day. I told her how I felt about her right before the ceremony." Then he smirked. "That picture was taken about five minutes after she kissed me for the first time."

The memory surfaced clearly in his mind, as though it were just yesterday. The people cheering…Fred and George's fireworks banging in the sky…her lips upon his, tangy to the lip gloss that had been put on them…

"Can I hear about it?"

He looked back up. Rodyle was handing the picture back to him, looking at him like a little girl that wanted his grandfather to read him a story. He then noticed that Skip and Loiselle had come over too, and had been listening to what they had been saying. Loiselle seemed interested; Skip hung in the back, leaning against the wall with his arms folded, a smirk on his face.

"Now?" Ron asked. "With everything that's going on?"

"I know it's not the best circumstances," she replied. "And I understand we really need to focus on the case. But…could I hear it? Please?"

He hesitated.

"It's kind of a long story."

"Well, unless McAllen gets a breakthrough, I think we've got time."

She sat forward in the chair, eagerly awaiting the story. Loiselle sat on the arm of the chair. again, Ron hesitated. He looked at Skip for some help, but his friend simply shrugged, as if saying, _why not?_ He looked back at the other two, and sighed. They've gone this far with him. They might as well know the story.

"I guess the best place to start would be a few weeks before graduation…"

* * *

Heehee, a nice little ending.

I think you can all imagine what's going to go down next.

Again, sorry I'm such a lazy ass. I'll try harder with this next one for you guys.

We're coming on almost one whole year for this story. I'd probably be done by now if I weren't so lazy and didn't have so many writer's blocks, but those are the breaks. But at any rate, mark November 1st down on your calendars as the one-year anniversary of this story.

Well, that's all for now.

Make a day.

Leave a review.

Peace out until next time.


	17. Four Years Ago

Well, here it is: My first major Ron/Hermione fanfic

Ladies and Gentlemen, we are now seventeen chapters into Crawling Under The Surface, the ONLY story on the "Harry Potter Most Subscribed" list that swears excessively.

…Well, no…probably not really. But it'd be really cool if it were true…

charma10- yeah, I saw the new review notice in my mailbox, and I was like, "Jesus Christ, it hasn't even been five _minutes_!" Heh, but on a serious note, I've spun one of the biggest webs imaginable for me, and now I'm gonna unravel it a bit.

Mione-Girl.x- Where is she, you ask? Well, I'll tell you. She's…in an undisclosed location for the time being! Heeheehee, aaaaah…I'm a bad, bad man. Nah, we'll find out soon, you'll see.

wasu- here is your update, and I don't believe it shall disappoint.

slythertwin- Yeah, it could've been, but that was all I had at that particular point and time. As you can see, they've gotten a lot longer since then.

Kei the Miko Neko Hanyou- We are indeed. One of those questions will definitely be answered next chapter.

ReadHeadLove13- .; I am really, _really_ sorry for that. I know a couple people over that way, and I know none of them have an accent…well, maybe one of them. It's a habit, I'm one of those Northerners, and I say it joy-zee and it stuck and…I'm just sorry for the misrepresentation. I love Jersey, I'm a huge fan of the Kevin Smith movies, and…yeah.

rachelle- here ya go, lassie.

Salemsoriginal99- I don't believe I could ever get myself to actually write a rape scene. Hell, I hate to even THINK about rape, it scares the crap out of me that people actually do that to each other. Next chapter, though, will have elements of it, if not it exactly, and I'm kinda apprehensive on how I'm gonna do it. In other events, aye, and this chapter will be non-action as well, though stuff shall go on.

Roonilismyking- Are they? Whew, good. I like to be incredibly accurate when I use other peoples' characters, so hearing that they're dead-on helps. Glad you love it.

smore4u1- Heh, yeh, luckiness helps. Good luck with the rest of it, though, updates get pretty hard. I'll do my best, though.

Heather- Good to know I got the touch. It's something a writer needs, and I can deliver it.

Alright, ladies and germs, this is it. The moment you've all been waiting for…or one of them, anyway. Three chapters; all dedicated to the past. Yes, friends, you heard right. Every question, every wonderment, every mind-blowing, gut-tearing, jaw-dropping, "oh-my-God-why-won't-he-just-come-out-and-tell-us-already" thing you can think of that you always wanted to know about the past four years leading up to the here and now will all be answered within these next three chapters.

I know, excitement. Crazy, crazy excitement. But contain yourselves, folks, it'll all be OK. Just sit back, relax, drink some Coors Light- or maybe have a Miller Time, depending on what kind of a person you are- stretch out your fingers, relax your eyes, prop your feet up on the table (if your computer is on one; a desk works too)-

And enjoy

* * *

When last we left off:

* * *

"_It's kind of a long story."_

"_Well, unless McAllen gets a breakthrough, I think we've got time."_

_She sat forward in the chair, eagerly awaiting the story. Loiselle sat on the arm of the chair. Again, Ron hesitated. He looked at Skip for some help, but his friend simply shrugged, as if saying, __why not?__ He looked back at the other two, and sighed. They've gone this far with him. They might as well know the story._

"_I guess the best place to start would be a few weeks before graduation…"_

* * *

Chapter Seventeen: Four Years Ago

* * *

Bloody old witch…

_This was what was going through Ronald Weasley's mind as he trudged along to the library, his famous "Weasley Temper" warding away students from first year to seventh. He didn't really care; McGonagall had just landed him with a particularly long, grueling Transfiguration essay that would probably take him all night._

_Again._

_He had, of course, learned to accept these sorts of things by now. But it seemed unfair to him that it was their final few weeks of school, and they were still receiving these huge amounts of assignments, some asking for two to three whole rolls of parchment. The last weeks of school should have been spent for relaxation, especially for these particular students, who have put up with seven years of this crap._

_Especially for these particular seventh years._

_Honestly, how much had they been through in just seven years? And did they get rewarded for it? Well, maybe, but not enough to get a "get-out-of-work-free" card. _

_He finally reached the library, ignoring the glare that Madam Pince gave him whenever he entered. Mainly because he was always being loud and annoying whenever he was in here, but that was irrelevant. He sat down at one of the table, rolled his parchment out on the table, and had his pen poised, ready to write._

_Twenty minutes later, he still hadn't moved from that position._

_He looked at his blank paper, then at his poised hand, and then he sighed. Why was it he could never get around to doing his own work? Why was it so hard for him? Was he really that mentally challenged that he couldn't even get through one assignment on his own? He put his head on top of the parchment and banged his head on it repeatedly._

"_That's just going to mess up the ink, you know."_

_He picked his head up and, despite himself, gave a little smile._

"_Thanks for the advice," he grumbled, turning to face the speaker._

_The speaker was, of course, his dear old friend Hermione Granger. She sat down across from him, her bushy brown hair bouncing on her shoulders. Ron felt himself spring hope. If she was here now, maybe this essay could be done._

"_Oh, no, it's fine," she replied, glancing over at his parchment. "There's no ink on it anyway. You didn't even put your name on the top yet."_

"_I can't figure out what to write," he answered. Then, looking at her with a hopeful look, he added, "You think maybe you could give me a hand?"_

_Hermione laughed._

"_No way. I know how this ends out. 'Give you a hand' usually turns into 'me doing all the work.' You need to learn how to do your own work."_

"_Pleeeeease?" he begged, cupping his hands together and making his lip quiver. "Just this one last time, and in a few weeks, you'll never have to do it again. I promise."_

_She sighed. Try as hard as she did, when that face came on, it was over. She'd give in. This always infuriated her to no end, but also made her smile a bit. Only Ron…_

"_Alright, fine," she agreed. "But this is the last time."_

"_Definitely. Thanks, you're the best."_

_She went red at the compliment. It was rare for her to say things like that to her- unless, of course, it was to help out with his homework- but it still meant a lot when he said it._

_As they sat there, Ron couldn't help but stare at his seven-year friend. She had grown up a lot in those years, from a nerdy, annoying little girl to a smart, friendly young woman, and his best friend. It was amazing, really, how cool and how nice and how attractive she had become…_

_Wait, attractive? Where the hell…?_

_Well, she WAS attractive, this was no lie. Just because she didn't get as many male admirers as Pavarti and Lavender did didn't mean she wasn't attractive. And he had always known she was; subconsciously, anyway. But he had never actually touched on that point before, even if it was only in his mind. The thought just confused him, and made him wonder a bit._

"_Ron?"_

"_Huh?" He snapped out of his thoughts. She was now staring back at him._

"_I was asking if you were looking forward to graduation," she asked again...well, for the first time for Ron, he supposed._

"_Oh. Well, yeah… if you mean I'm looking forward to that moment before we go off to fight You-Know-Who, then sure," he added spitefully._

"_Oh…right…" Her face fell, remembering that one fact that she had hoped to forget._

_He bit his tongue. Good job, Weasley. Now you've made her feel worse, bringing up the war. Moron._

"_But we still have some time," he told her. "There's still the Graduation Ball. That should be amusing."_

"_It should," she agreed, getting into a better mood. "Are you going with anyone?"_

"_Dunno yet. I guess I'm just going to have to wait and see. What about you?"_

"_Oh, I'm not worrying too much about a date this time. I'm just going to go and have a good time. We all deserve it._

"_True, but you know what I always say-"_

"_Yes, Ronald, but I don't care if it's pathetic to not have a date," she rolled her eyes. "I, unlike you, care more about the dance itself rather than the finer details of it."_

"_You ALWAYS care about the finer details of everything, though."_

"_Well, not this."_

_That shut him up. But it also got him thinking: would she be interested in going with me? She didn't seem interested in going with a date, but if it was with a friend…oh, bugger, he thought. Why would she want to go with him? That was just stupid. They were friends._

_Just that._

_It was several hours later when they finally finished the essay…or rather, _she_ finished it. He looked it over and smiled happily. This had just saved him a whole night of effort and turmoil. She had saved his pathetic arse yet again._

"_Thanks Hermione," he said. "Seriously."_

"_Just as long as you promise never to do it again. We're leaving school soon, Ron. You can't keep depending on others to bail you out."_

"_I know, it's just…I'm not as smart as you. You know that."_

_Hermione slapped his arm._

"_Ronald Weasley, don't EVER say that!" she exclaimed at him. "You are every bit as smart as me; you just need to _apply yourself_. If you actually showed interest in your work as you do for Quidditch, then you'd see just how smart you really are."_

_He gave her that lopsided grin that she both hated and loved, which prompted another smack on the arm. People passing by who saw them shook their heads with their own smiles. Same old Ron, same old Hermione. It didn't look like ANYTHING would change between the two._

"_Ow! Alright, fine!" Ron rubbed his sore arm. "God, you hit hard for a girl."_

"_And don't you forget it." She glanced down at her watch. "I have to go. I'll see you later, OK?"_

"_Where're you going?" He called after her as she walked off._

"_Have to send a letter," she responded._

"_What, a letter to __Vicky__?"_

"_Don't start, Ronald," was the last thing he heard before she was out of earshot and sight._

_He sighed. Thank God he had made it out of that without getting in trouble. Every time he brought up Viktor Krum, he ended up regretting it, but he supposed she wasn't in the mood for fighting, not when they were so close to being out of Hogwarts forever. He hated fighting too, but somehow his mouth always led him to that point._

_And then he asked himself, why DID bringing up Krum always lead to fights, at least, the way he kept bringing him up? He used to admire the guy; now he wanted to murder him in a most brutal fashion. And it was just because he had asked her to the Yule Ball. _

_Sure, it left him with someone he barely knew as his date, and that alone sucked enough. But it wasn't like he wanted Hermione as an actual date; just someone to go with so he didn't have to go alone._

_Right?_

_He stopped in the middle of the hallway, stopped dead, almost causing a build-up of the students behind him. Something was wrong. Really wrong. For the first time, he couldn't make himself believe it. He couldn't tell himself that she was just a friendly-date. It surprised him, and at the same time it didn't, and then he became surprised that he wasn't as surprised. He thought he'd be more surprised than that._

_He also wondered why there was so much/less surprise over all._

_And then it hit him. What his REAL problem was. And that realization scared him more than anything else._

"_Oh crap…"_

_--_

"_Harry! Harry! Wake up!"_

_It was late at night- technically morning- when Ron finally sprinted into the dormitory and began to shake his best friend awake. Once his epiphany had hit, he had walked around like a zombie for hours before he finally snapped out of it and sprinted back to his dormitory faster than a freshly-fired curse. He had to tell someone; he'd crack if he didn't._

"_Mmmph…Ron, it's three o'clock in the morning, what do you want?"_

_Harry Potter threw the covers off his head to see his friend. He was a stick-thin kid with raven-colored hair falling over his forehead, covering the lightening-bolt shaped scar left upon him as a baby. Normally with glasses on his face, he didn't bother putting them on as he looked tiredly at his hyperactive friend._

"_Hermione-library-Krum-realized-love-panicking-and-" the words tumbled out of Ron's mouth like water from a fountain, and for Harry, none of them were making the slightest bit of sense._

"_Ron," he interjected, "shut up, calm down, and then tell me what you're trying to say."_

_Ron took a deep breath._

"_OK," he said. "I was in the library, doing my homework, and Hermione came to help me out, and we ended up talking for a while. You know, like we do every other day."_

"_Right, except by 'helping', you mean she did all your work, right?"_

"_Do you two practice your lines together or something?"_

"_Just continue."_

"_Well, then we started talking about the ball and graduation and all that, and then she went to go write a letter and I was walking and thinking and then…then…"_

_He stopped then, trying to find the words, but only strangled sounds were coming out of his mouth. Harry, now gone from partially to halfway awake, was waiting for the next words to come out, but he soon got impatient._

"_And then…what?"_

"_And then…I think…" he gulped._

"_Harry, I think I've fallen for her."_

_He was expecting the same kind of look that he himself had done when he had realized it; like he had just had a heart-attack, a shocking epiphany that felt like he had just been smacked in the head by an anvil thrown from the tallest tower. He had expected Harry's eyes to shoot wide open, for his jaw to hit the floor, for him to eventually pass out into a coma for the sheer magnitude of what he had just said._

_What he got was nothing of the sort._

"_You woke me up at three in the morning…JUST to tell me that…" said Harry, his expression not changing in the slightest._

_Ron looked around the room, puzzled, as if he had not said it properly._

"_Um…yeah?"_

"_Good night, Ron," he turned over and fell back upon the pillow._

"_Wait a minute," Ron threw the blankets aside incredulously, "You're not even gonna say anything about it? You're not surprised?"_

_Harry just sighed._

"_Seamus, what's the total on the pool right now?" he called out._

"'_Bout fifty Galleons, twenty-nine Sickles, and eleven Knuts," the Scottish voice of Seamus Finnegan came from another bunk._

"_I thought it was forty Galleons?" Dean Thomas' voice rang out._

"_Nah, I put in ten more the other day," Neville Longbottom's voice came back with._

_Harry looked back at Ron, who just stood there with his mouth wide open._

"_Satisfied? Now good night, Ron," he turned back over on the bed again._

"_You knew?!" Ron exclaimed at him. "You knew before I did? How?"_

"_Ron, EVERYONE knew before you did!" Harry rolled back over for the third time, now very angry that he couldn't get to sleep. "Even the bloody suits of armor realized that there was SOMETHING going on between you two; even if YOU were too busy arguing to see it! There's been a pool starting since fourth year, and I would've won last year if you hadn't had gone for Lavender instead!"_

"_You've been betting on my love life?"_

"_As opposed to…?"_

"_Oh, I dunno, as opposed to NOT betting on my love life?"_

"_Point being," he continued, "is that you have let this go on for far too long. It's seventh year, we only have a few weeks left, we're going off to war in a few months' time, and you have yet to make any kind of move. If you're going to make any at all, I suggest you do it before we all lose our minds, AND our money! Now: GOOD __**NIGHT**__, RON!"_

_With that said he rolled over on his bed the final time and went straight to sleep._

_It took Ron a few moments to finally get in his bed and try to get some sleep. But when he did, he had some weird dreams. Stuff from his past; the chess match first year, visiting the petrified Hermione second year, the Yule Ball fourth year and her hexing him with the canaries just last year. And then he also saw some other images; of him and her dancing at the ball; of them hugging, covered in dirt and filth; of him and her, older now, talking in a bar; of them fighting in a house; of him holding her, her face covered in blood; of them kissing by a lakeside._

_The images threw him for a loop. Were these dreams or visions?_

_It made him wonder for a long time._

_--_

_When he woke up, it took him a few minutes to remember the conversation of last night. At first, he tried to convince himself it was all a dream. Then, when he failed to do that, he looked over to where Harry had been sleeping. The covers were thrown off, the bed empty; his friend had gone down to breakfast._

_Speaking of breakfast, his stomach was growling. Well, roaring, actually; when he was hungry, his stomach let him know in a big way. So, he got out of bed, thinking he'd talk more with Harry over some nice crispy bacon._

_He changed quickly and hurried down to the Great Hall. Once in the doorway, however, he stopped. There Harry was-_

_And so was Hermione._

_Now, any other day of the week, this wouldn't be so bad for him. But after what had just happened last night, this normality could not be so. Now that he realized what he felt for her was more than just friendly, it would only be awkward. His history with women would only further prove that._

_But he couldn't just ignore them and sit somewhere else. They were still his best friends. And besides, Harry had already spotted him and was waving him over to their table. With no other option, he went to go join them, hoping he wouldn't give himself away in one meal._

"_Morning, Ron," Harry greeted with a grin. "Sleep well?"_

"_Yeah, slept well enough," his friend answered, throwing a somewhat-casual smile at Hermione, who returned it, as per the usual._

"_Even with waking me up in the middle of the night?"_

_Hermione frowned. "Why did you wake him in the middle of the night?"_

"_I, uh…oh, hey, can you pass me the sausages please?" Ron abruptly changed the subject. It was a horrible way to do it, of course, but it worked, for Hermione made a face and passed the plate of sausages to him._

_Just then, there was a scream coming over from the Ravenclaw table. They turned just in time to see Terry Boot nearly get tackled by Padma Patil as she squealed in delight. Most of the girls watching the spectacle made "aaaw" noises; most of the guys watching just laughed._

"_I guess Terry and Padma are going to the Ball together," said Hermione, throwing Ron a look when he wasn't looking. When he turned back around, she immediately looked away, blushing but hiding it well._

"_OK, this is pathetic," Harry said, seeing her blushing and getting tired of Ron not seeing it. "Terry Boot- TERRY, for Gods sakes- has a date for the Ball, and neither of you do. Hurry up, you two."_

"_I've already told you, I'm not going with anyone," Hermione told him._

"_Yeah, I'm just gonna go stag too," agreed Ron. "It's not worth worrying about a date over."_

"_No. Nuh uh." Harry stood up with a very determined and very sneaky look on his face. "I refuse to let you two ruin your last dance at school dateless. If you won't find any dates, then you two are going to go together."_

_That sentence had enough punch to it to take out a giant, all seven feet of rough hide. Harry had never, in all the years he had known them, seen either of them give him such stupefied, scared looks as the ones they were giving him right then. Ron looked like he had just been hit in the face with a Bludger; Hermione was bug-eyed, mouth wide open, skin paler than Nearly-Headless Nick._

_Then they both started complaining. Actually, more like protesting and screaming and whatever words they could actually get out of their still surprised mouths. But at this point, Harry "realized" he hadn't talked to Neville today, so he blurted out that he was going to go do that. Which he did._

_So that left the two alone, sitting in silence, throwing the occasional glance at each other when the other wasn't looking. There was no noise whatsoever from them. Then suddenly-_

"_Um…Hermione?"_

_She looked back over nervously. "Y-Yes?"_

_He gulped. This was terribly hard._

"_Well, um…if you…I mean…WOULD you mind going to the Ball together?"_

_She gave him a surprised look. He panicked. "I mean, if you don't want to, then I won't pressure you, just-"_

"_No, it's not that," she insisted. "I'm just surprised…would you want to?"_

_**YES!**__ His mind shouted at him, but instead he said, "Well, sure, I mean…no harm in it, right?"_

_There was no answer, or any facial change. He turned away, thinking he had probably just said a little too much. __**Well**__, he thought, __**that answers that, now you know she only thinks about you as a friend. Now that that embarrassment is over with, we can go on with our lives.**_

"_Ron?"_

_He looked back up at her. "Yeah?"_

_She was looking right at him…and she was smiling?_

"_If you want to," she told him, "then yes. I'll go to the Ball with you."_

_It was like the skies had cleared of clouds and overhead all there was were sunlight and rainbows…maybe not that last part, but still, there was a tremendous lift of burden off Ron's chest. He couldn't quite believe it, of course- too good to be true and all that- so he had to make sure._

"_You're serious?" he asked._

"_Well, yeah," she answered with a shrug. "It'd be fun."_

_This was excellent. Perfect, even. He nodded._

"_OK, sure. Excellent."_

_He couldn't believe his good luck. This night was going to be perfect._

_--_

_This night was going to be a disaster._

_His bloody robes wouldn't fit properly, he had tripped over his trunk, he realized that he couldn't dance whatsoever and when he tried to learn he sent one girl to the hospital wing for her bruised, swelling feet. His hair was a mess, his robes STILL didn't fit, and now he had a headache._

_And it was still an hour before the dance._

"_This isn't going to work," he moaned._

"_Why not? You look fine," replied Harry, straightening out his own robes (which looked about fifty times nicer than those of his friend)._

"_I don't CARE about how I look," snapped Ron. "What I DO care about is everything going right tonight, and so far, nothing is."_

"_The dance hasn't even started yet, and you're already getting cold feet? Usually, you need to pull this off five minutes before you see her."_

"_I'm serious, Harry, what if I muck things up during the dance? What if I step on her feet or knock punch over onto her dress or what if she's only going with me as a ploy to get some other bloke jealous, or-"_

"_Ron." Harry grabbed his friend's shoulders and held him tightly, meeting him eye to eye. "You are not going to step on her feet. If you feel like you're going to, keep looking down every six seconds to make sure you're at the proper distance. You are not going to knock punch onto her dress. In fact, you're going to stay away from the punch table entirely, because if you think that you are going to do something stupid, then it'll happen. She is NOT using you to make a bloke jealous. You're her best friend, she would never do that to you, and I can't think of what other guy she would bother going after. So cut out the pity party, get yourself ready, and get going to that dance. Alright?"_

"_What if she doesn't feel the same way, though?" asked Ron, feeling desperate and lost. "I don't know if I'd be able to handle that. And if she doesn't, then what was the point of even trying to start something?"_

"_Because you love her," Harry answered, as simple as that. "Don't you?"_

_Of course he did. That much had become blatantly obvious to him._

_He just wasn't sure if he could handle not having love returned._

_--_

"_What if this is a mistake?"_

_Ginny Weasley looked up from the mirror, where she had been halfway done doing her make-up. _

"_Why would you say that?" she asked._

_Hermione sighed and flopped down on her bed, careful not to mess up her hair, which had just spent the last two to three hours under attack by three other girls in a attempt to make it less of tornado and more of an elegant hairstyle. She smoothed out her dress, which tonight was a lovely shade of blue with a white stripe around the middle._

"_It just seems too perfect," she said, examining herself in her own mirror, making sure she looked perfect for the night to come. "Your brother taking me to the dance, actually having me as a date and not as a last-minute question. It seems too good to be true."_

"_It's Ron. He's not exactly Viktor Krum, he's just my brother."_

"_Yes. And it's also the boy I'm…you know."_

"_In looooooooooooooooooooove with," Ginny said teasingly, with a big grin on her face._

"_Shut up," her friend threw a pillow at her, blushing with embarrassment._

"_Seriously, though, what's the big deal? Just do what you always do around him. You hang out with him every minute of every day pretty much, are you really telling me you're not used to it by now?"_

"_It's different, though, because obviously it's going to be more awkward. We're at a dance as dates, not friends, and it's going to be a whole night of wondering where it will go afterwards. And then there are the little things, like where our hands are supposed to go if and when we dance, if his feet step on mine or vice versa, or-"_

"_Oh my God, how did Viktor Krum ever put up with you?" Ginny asked, giving her friend an annoyed sign and look. "You worry too much, has it ever occurred to you that this is your last dance at Hogwarts and that you should just go and have fun at it?"_

"_Still-"_

"_OK, here's what you do: before you even go wondering about what happens afterwards, remind yourself that you're leaving school in a very short time and will be going off to fight a war, and there will be plenty of time to think about it afterwards. When you dance, your hands go on his shoulders and his on your waist. That way, if they stray south of the waist, you don't have to reach up too far to slap him in the face. If he steps on your feet- and he will, most likely- just smile and tell him to look down every now and again to make sure he doesn't do it again. Is that simple enough for you? Or do you want me to make it complicated, just so you can have an easier time with it?"_

"_Please, don't," Hermione protested. "I'd rather it not be."_

"_Good. I'd rather not repeat it."_

_With that, Ginny went back to preparing herself for the night ahead, while Hermione finished up brushing her hair. She lay back on the bed and sighed._

_Were this night to go well, it would be a dream come true for her. Were it to go bad, it would become her worst nightmare made real. Everything was riding on this one night, and as much as she hated putting all of her chips on the table for just one bet, the hope in her heart that this would pay off made it worth it._

_That was, if it did pay off._

_--_

_The night started off well enough. All the boys waited by the entrance to the Great Hall for their dates, either perfectly calm, mildly nervous, or in full-out panic mode. For some reason, though, whenever their dates walked into the room, they seemed to calm themselves down and compliment their lady and then lead them into the hall for the night's festivities._

_For Ron, this seemed to hold the same. The minute he saw Hermione, all the doubts he had in his mind seemed to vanish. She looked absolutely elegant, dressed in a light blue dress with a white strip around the middle and her hair, usually looking like a monsoon had hit it, was looking very nice and straight, still down to her shoulders. He always liked it down; maybe she knew that? She seemed pretty nervous herself, but when she saw him, she smiled. He smiled back, and began walking over to her._

"_Wow," he said as he neared, "you look…wow."_

_She laughed. "Is that to be taken as a compliment?" she asked._

_He nodded, blushing, figuring it'd be better if he didn't open his mouth again.  
_

"_Well, thank you," she straightened his robes out, bringing further redness to his face. "You look very handsome tonight yourself."_

_He just stood there smiling, knowing that if his face turned anymore red, it would probably blow up. But at least he didn't feel as nervous as he did a minute ago. Just really really REALLY bashful._

_Then they just stood there for a few moments of silence, both thinking up a million things they could say but none that sounded good enough to say._

"_You want to go in now?" Ron finally found the most obvious question to ask._

"_Yeah, sure," she replied, still nervous but getting more excited._

_They walked in at the same time (their arms just briefly grazing, not hand-holding, not arm-linked-around-arm, as were the usual custom; neither were quite ready for that yet). They looked around at their completely-transformed dining hall. Bright lights shot all over the room, the ceiling was alight with different colors instead of the usual outside sky. Balloons and streamers and all kinds of party instruments were thrown around, tossed mindlessly by its setters. A group of students had put a band together and were playing for the rest of the crowd, both fast-paced songs and slower ones._

_The night started out for the two pretty uneventful. They never left each others' sides, but at the same time preferred to be around others too, mainly Harry and Ginny, so that it wasn't too awkward. When the mealtime came, they sat next to each other, talking cheerfully with the other students, and occasionally throwing each other those innocent, bashful looks that teenagers in love are famous for._

_There were some mishaps, of course. No punch spilled, thank the maker, but there was a time where Harry and Ginny were dancing a little too "friendly", and Hermione had to pull Ron over to the refreshment table to keep him from freaking out on them._

"_It's my sister!" he exclaimed._

"_Yes," she parried, "and she is perfectly capable of looking out for herself. And you know Harry's not going to try anything on her that she doesn't want to do. Trust them."_

"_It's not that I don't trust them, it's just…" He looked over at them, with an air of wistfulness around him. "She's my little sister…"_

_Hermione gave him a small hug._

"_I know. But you have to let her grow up sometime. We did."_

_He looked at her and smiled. She had grown up a lot; from the little girl with wild brown hair and two large front teeth and a habit for being a nerdy know-it-all to the young woman with the now straight teeth, still messy brown hair and still somewhat know-it-all, but also kind and beautiful and just perfect in every which way._

_And then the slow song came on. Out of nowhere, the band slowed down and their female vocalist began singing softer. All the couples that were out on the floor put their arms around each other and began swaying to the music. Most of the ones that weren't out on the dance floor began to move onto it to do the same._

_Ron and Hermione glanced at each other at the exact same time, and instantly both felt a blush creep to their faces. It was the moment of truth for both of them, and they both knew it._

"_You, um…you want to dance?" he asked her._

_She bit her lip and looked down. Inside, she was more nervous than she had been before the dance; before ever, if truth be told. Se had not even been this nervous three years ago when Victor Krum had first asked her to dance. It was RON asking her to dance now. And it was that reason that made it more mind-numbing than with a famous Quidditch player._

_But her nerves were nothing compared to Ron's. How he hadn't begun to sweat by now amazed him, because he felt warmer than the depths of Hades. Facing You-Know-Who with just a pebble, in just his underwear, would be less threatening to him than the idea of dancing with Hermione. It wasn't a bad thing, of course; he was just terrified. If he did not sell this right now, then this whole night was for nothing._

_She looked back up at him, right into his eyes._

"_Yes," she said. "I'd love to dance."_

_He nodded. It didn't do anything to calm his nerves, but at least they would dance._

_They moved out onto the dance floor, this time holding each others' hand. They stopped in the middle of the floor and faced each other. Hermione placed her hands on his shoulders, and Ron's hands, her waist. Remembering what Ginny had told her earlier, she was satisfied when they were a good distance north from her rear end. At least he was not going to try and get a cheap feel._

_When they both started moving to the rhythm, their minds shut down. They were on auto-pilot. One minute she was thinking about what they were going to talk about during this dance and the next…she had stopped thinking altogether. Thought was just no longer required. Being in the moment was all that she concerned herself with._

_As they danced, their eyes never left each other. This struck her as somewhat odd. All night, they could not bring themselves to look at each other for very long, but yet now, they could not take their eyes off each other. The atmosphere had changed; there was no awkwardness, no nervousness. There was just no need to be that. Not now, at least._

_Then she spoke, although it was not what he had expected to hear:_

"_I'm sorry about last year."_

_He was taken aback. "Sorry for what?"_

_She bit her lip. "About setting the canaries on you, for starters-"_

"_I think it's fair to say I deserved that one," he said with a laugh. "I wasn't exactly being the nicest person in the world to you then."_

"_Still, I shouldn't have done that to you-"_

"_It's OK." Then he dropped his smile. "I'm the one who should be apologizing, anyway. If I hadn't had gotten together with Lavender, maybe things would have been different for us."_

_Lavender Brown. The mere mention of her name made her feel like she was shrinking. The girl who had unknowingly made her life hell without even trying. She shouldn't have let it bother her, but she did._

"_Why did you go out with her?"_

_She had not even considered the question until after it had come out of her mouth. When she did, she was horrified. Ninny, she thought to herself, why would you ask that? Do you really want to get an answer you'd rather not hear? Do you want to get your heart broken any more than it already has?_

_He bit his tongue and looked down for the first time, just for a moment or two. He didn't answer. She did not want him to answer. The answer was one she would rather not know. She immediately countered it._

"_Well…"She tried to shrug it off. "It's over now. It doesn't matter." But to her, it did, and he could feel that she still felt the weight of the burden._

"_I'm sorry I hurt you, Hermione," he told her, and his voice was the most sincere than it had ever been. "I never meant to do it."_

_And then there was that moment. That moment when your heart stops, when you're in the middle of deciding if you should kiss or not and actually doing it. As the song reached the bridge, Ron and Hermione felt that desire to finally make that jump from friendship to something a lot deeper, something they had secretly wanted to happen but were too afraid to go to. In that moment, they realized for the first time that what they felt was not just friendship, was not mere infatuation, was not even a small crush, that it was love and all its true glory. It was that thing that could not be described in words, no mater how hard you tried to. It was just there. And it called to them, and now, finally, they could hear it._

_Without even knowing it, their heads began to inch towards each other, making the distance between them smaller and smaller. That subconscious desire was beginning to act on its own, not listening anymore to any amount of reason that went on inside their minds. At first, it was not clear to the two what was going on. Then they realized it. Their hearts began pumping faster, much faster than they had during any of the dangers they had faced over their last seven years. It was a feeling of anxiety, fear, joy, and excitement all rolled into a fascinating mix. It was the most incredibly numbing feeling in the world, and they both liked it._

_Her eyes closed, just a crack, and when he saw this, his began to follow suit. His mind was spinning like a child's top, and the only thing he could hear was his inner voice telling him to do. Make the move, it told him, kiss her. Let it happen._

_It didn't happen._

_At the last moment, the song ended abruptly to make way for the next one. When the raised volume blasted, both heads immediately jumped backwards, startled. When they looked at each other and realized what they had about to do, her face went redder than he had ever seen it go, and he could feel his face going the same way. It had been close; too close for either of their personal zones. They had gotten caught up in the heat of the moment, they reasoned in their minds, that was it._

_They backed away a little, no longer in each others' arms. She was suddenly focused intently on the floor. He could not stop staring at her._

"_Thank you for the dance, Ron," she simply said, in a very polite manner._

"_Yeah, sure," he answered, speaking as if it was not that big of a deal. "No problem."_

_Inside, he was kicking himself._

_The rest of the night passed without much incident. And nothing else happened between the two of them. They still stayed as if glued to each other, but they made sure to keep to their respectful selves, and they had returned to glancing over only when the other's head was turned. They danced two more slow dances, but they held themselves back, not allowing what had happened before to happen again, even though they both obviously wanted it to. And although each more than once got a glance from Harry or Ginny, neither talked to them, and so they were as much in the dark as the two lovebirds were._

_At the end of the night, the four of them walked together back to Gryffindor common room. All the other couples were saying good-night to each other, some with a hug, some with a kiss. Harry and Ginny went off to have their own special ending, leaving Ron and Hermione standing in the middle of the common room, looking slightly awkward._

_Then Hermione said, "I had a great time tonight."_

_And Ron replied with, "Yeah, me too."_

_For the briefest of moments, that feeling, that longing, was back in full force, and for a split second Ron's head argued with him to just go ahead with it. But instead, Hermione edged up on her tip-toes and planted a gentle kiss on his cheek._

"_Good-night," she whispered into his ear. "Thank you for a wonderful night."_

_He did not answer. He could not answer; there was nothing in him he could think to say until it was too late, and she had turned back and retreated up the stairs to the girl's dormitory. He stood alone then, watching her leave, wishing that she was not. Ginny went up not long after, and when another moment had passed, Harry stepped up beside him._

"_What happened?" he demanded. "What did you do?"_

"_Nothing," Ron let out with the most longing of sighs. "And I think that's just the problem."_

_--_

_Lying in bed a few nights later, Ron pondered the situation in its entirety. He looked up at the top of the bed's canopy, too deep in his thoughts to let even Neville's snores snap him out of it. _

_Somehow, the thought that they would leave Hogwarts forever and go off and join the war at only eighteen did not scare him nearly as much as the thought of his feelings for Hermione going unsaid. He could handle Voldemort; he could handle the Death Eaters and the Avada Kedavra curse. He could even handle dying, as long as it was quick and painless and did not leave him begging for it. But for some reason, the idea of being separated from Hermione by what could be entire countries, not knowing if she was alive or dead, and she or he getting killed before she knew how much he cared for her was too much for him to bear._

_Why was this? He thought back to all the times he had done something for or with Hermione. In first year saving her from the troll; in second year, when he had defended her from Malfoy and then faced the Chamber of Secrets to save her; in third year, the fiasco with Scabbers; in fourth year, the Yule Ball; in fifth year, all the evenings they spent together on patrols or in the D.A.; and finally last year, with Lavender and Cormac McLaggen. And every single time, he was met with success, whether it be her smile or the warmth she brought him when she hugged him. Fleur and Lavender had never done that to him. Hermione had._

_He loved her. That much he understood. And judging from what happened at the Ball, he had finally come to the conclusion that she felt the same way about him._

_His father had once told him that if he loved something, he should hold onto it no matter what. At the time, Ron had not understood what he meant. If he loved something, like he had Quidditch at the time, why would he ever let it go? Would it not always be right there, within arms length? But now, he understood. There would not always be a time where the PERSON he loved would be with him, and especially now, when they were all headed into danger, the only thing they would have to hold on to was the love they shared. To leave without that knowledge would be catastrophic on them. He had almost lost her, more times than he could have the stomach to count, and it was only by luck and much groveling that she had stayed by his side all this time. He could not lose her again; not when this was the time that really mattered. Not when he finally realized that he DID love her more than anything else, more than Quidditch, and when he realized he NEVER wanted to let her go._

_And then Ron knew what he had to do._

_--_

_The day of graduation was a beautiful blue-skied day, the best Hogwarts had seen since November. The greens were a bright shade of green, blowing in unison to the wind blowing across them. The sun was a fiery yellow, its rays shooting out like lasers across the blue sky. There were no clouds, save for a few pillow-like wisps here and there. In the distance, the Whomping Willow was silent and un-moving, as if even it was watching the beautiful ceremony that was unfolding in the outside courtyard._

_There were a couple hundred students graduating that day. They were separated, alphabetically, by gender; the men, dressed in robes as blue as the above sky, were placed on the right-hand sky, while the women in pure white robes were seated on the left. On the pedestal in front of them was the Headmaster, and behind him were the families of the graduates. From his seat in the back, Ron could see his family in the front row, calling out his name, with large smiles on their faces that another one of their kin was finally going into the world._

_They had made it. All of them had made it. Seven years of magic and adventure had finally led them to this day, this hour, this very MOMENT. Wherever they went now was their own choice. His was toward the war and hopes that they could all finally live a peaceful life someday. Some would follow him; some would go elsewhere. But this was the point where they came together, one last time, as a graduating class. Where they came together as one unified group, instead of four very different houses._

_As he went up to get his diploma, Ron thought back on it all. It was incredible, to think of all he had been through. On the outside, he looked the same, a little taller maybe, as he did when he had first arrived. But he was different inside, and now even he knew it. He was a little immature boy no longer, and today, he would make true on that._

_And then, when the last one in line received their diploma, red and green sparks shot up from either side of their platform. In the air, fireworks exploded, immediately recognized as works of the Weasley twins, saying messages of congratulations and blessings, with the occasional joke or cat-call. From the Forbidden Forest, a volley of arrows were fired into the sky, over their heads and off into the distance. From the lake, a wet, rubbery tentacle floated out of the surface and gave a small wave. And on the platform, each and every student had never felt more proud than they had in their entire lives._

_They had survived their biggest obstacle yet. They had won._

_And soon, everyone was gathered by the lake. Students and family members intermingled, with many hugs and much chatter about. There was laughter, there were tears, but mainly, there was a sense of pride that they had accomplished all that they had needed to, parents and children alike. The parents had done all they could; the rest was up to this new group heading off into the world._

_Ron walked around the parties, occasionally stopping to share a word or two but not staying in one place for too long. His head towered over everyone, his eyes scanning the multitude of faces, looking for one face in particular. He looked everywhere, searching-_

"_Ron!"_

_He turned towards the edge of the lake, and there she was, waving to him, waiting for him to join her. Smiling, he pushed through the crowd to get to her. She moved to meet him, her face overjoyed, exclaiming "We made it! Oh, can you believe it, we actually graduated-"_

_And then he kissed her._

_Right as she reached him, he could not contain himself any longer. His arms shot out, his hands gently grabbed her face, and he brought his face in and placed his lips upon hers, finally closing that distance that had actually been feet but had felt like miles._

_Surprise was Hermione's initial reaction. Then she felt something that neither Viktor or Cormac had made her feel; a slight tingling in her feet that traveled its way up her legs, into her stomach, and then spread out to fill her entire body. She felt herself relax, allowed her eyes to close and for her to put more feeling behind her end so that he could know that this was not one-sided, that SHE wanted it even more than HE did._

_Time stood still for both of them. Several heads had turned and either smiled in surprise or let out a satisfied whoop at the sight of a kiss between two people the world had almost given up on ever seeing together. Neither paid them any mind; in their minds, there was no one else on the planet but them._

_Standing a few feet away, Neville turned to Seamus and Dean, a smug smile on his face. He held out his arm and opened his palm before them._

"_Pay up," he said. The other two cursed and reached into their pockets._

_Ron and Hermione broke the kiss and looked at each other, deep into their eyes into a place neither had dared to enter. She smiled at him._

"_I-" He started to say._

_She stopped him. "I know," she said. "I do too."_

"_Well," said Harry as he and Ginny came up to them, his arm around her shoulders with a satisfied grin on his face, "I hope I really don't have to say what you know I'm going to say."_

"_Please don't," the two said together. Harry laughed, but there was no doubt that he was proud of them._

"_Picture!" With a boyish grin, Colin Creevey pushed through the crowd with his giant Muggle camera in his hands. "Guys, get together!"_

_Though there was some grumbling by the men, the four of them got together, Ron with Hermione, Harry with Ginny. They posed together, all four of them with smiles wider than they had ever had them, knowing now and forever that whatever else happened, they would get through it all together._

"_Three-two-one!"_

_CLICK!_

* * *

…um…Hi, everyone.

…

I guess I should explain why it took so long. I know you're all used to having to wait for an update, but…well, eight months is a long time. Longer than I've ever made a person wait, and longer than I have ever wanted to make anyone wait to have to read what I write. And since it took so long, and you've all been so incredibly loyal…you deserve an explanation.

For those of you who haven't been keeping up with the updates I've posted on my main account page…you have a life. Good for you. It's good to go out and do something. I used to be in a relationship with someone, it did great things for me.

And that was what began all this. It started with a break-up, then it was issues I've been having with school and with my friends. I've been involved in my own personal project- part three of a three-part trilogy that's taken the better part of two and a half years- and I really needed to work on that. Then I graduated from high school on May 29th, and then I've still been having personal problems, mainly with friends and with personal relationships.

And that's the long and short of it. I can keep going, but I know you guys read my stuff for the story, not to hear me bitch. And since you've put up with my shit longer than you've needed to, I'll end the explanation there. If you want to know more, message me about it, just don't put it in the review.

That's really it. It wasn't cause of the site, the site's worked just like it's always had. And it isn't because the haters have been getting me down, because…well, I don't GET haters. Like, I'll get a negative review here or there, but reception to my work on this site has been 95 percent positive. I've been incredibly lucky, to know that so many people enjoy reading my stuff. You've really made me feel good about writing, which is what I want to do with my life. This is the career I've chosen for myself. And to know that I can put out stuff that people will like…well, thanks. You've all be great. Thank you so much.

Alright, now, to the story:

This is the longest chapter I've ever posted for anything. We've hit over 9,000 words and over 20 pages; kicking all my other long chapters in the ass. I figured, if I was going to make a grand entrance, I figured it would be a long one. So you have something big to read, not something under 4,000 words like I usually do. I wanted this one to be better than the others. I didn't want to post this until I had just that.

Now, next chapter deals with the war. There are going to be a lot of questions answered in this one, and I hope you all have one particular one that you want me to get to. Here's some, to get you started:

_Who's Alex Cunningham?_ OK, that one's a gimme.

_How did Hermione meet Lindsay? _I'm gonna like doing this one. It should be a lot of fun.

_What was the extent of the work done by Ron and Cunningham? _I've made hints, but now we're gonna see the full damage. I hope you can all take that. It's gonna be hard writing it, I can already tell you that much.

_What was the "incident"? _In the earlier chapters, I referred to some incident that took place, involving Hermione and Brownside. You may remember it, you may not. I don't know. But regardless, I will answer it.

_What happened to Harry?_ OK, that one may SEEM like a gimme. Forget about it. There's going to be something to this that I never even so much as HINTED at. What it is, you'll have to wait and see.

I don't know how long next chapter's going to take. It's going to be another long one. But I guarantee you this- as long as I'm breathing, the chapter will come. I'm not dead, I'm not going to die, and I am NOT EVER going to give up. I'm still slogging along, just like I always am.

So, that said, good-bye for now, I look forward to reviews and messages to the author and reading them- and maybe answering a few of them directly- and I'll see you next time.

Peace out, everyone.


	18. Atrocities of War

And we are now eighteen chapters in.

Salemsoriginal99- If you thought that was good, take a peak at THIS.

cassygirl- Thank you, so do I.

Loves-to-Write-Ready-to-Listen- Oh jeez, I couldn't put off lunch to WRITE it, much less to read it. Ha ha. Well, here's another super-duper-long one.

smore4u1- That was the kindest review I've received in a while, and it really brightened up my day when I read it. I think it was the strength I needed to really dish out this chapter you're about to read, so thank you for that.

katie1985- Well I'm glad mine was an exception. Hope you continue to enjoy it!

cursingjarvey- Hey Cassie! Didn't know you were on here, that's cool. Well, it's finally out, and it took forever, but it's a good one.

saknicole- Flashback chapters are fun to do, but damn are they long-winded. This one, though, I'm happy with it.

? donde estass?- (I don't know if that's your real pen name or not, but eh)- Here it is, enjoy.

**WARNING: THIS CHAPTER CONTAINS MATURE AND VIOLENT CONTENT, SUCH AS MUTILATION, RAPE, GORE AND OTHER THINGS THAT WOULD CLASSIFY THIS UNDER AN "M" RATING! VIEWER DISCRETION IS ADVISED! IF YOU ARE UNDER THE AGE OF 17 AND/OR HAVE A WEAK CONSTITUTION, YOU ARE ADVISED TO WAIT UNTIL THE NEXT CHAPTER!**

Can't say I didn't warn you this time. Although, a lot is answered in this chapter, so...if you don't want to be completely lost, you might want to tune in.

So, with no more words wasted, enjoy.

* * *

Chapter Eighteen: Atrocities of War

_"Ronald Weasley?"_

_Ron looked up as his name was called. "Yeah?"_

_"You're up, mate. Hurry it up, we don't have all day," the man ordered, beckoning him over to the table impatiently._

_Ron grabbed his bag and slung it over his shoulders, grunting as its weight hit his back. Almost everything he owned was in it, save for his bed and his broomstick._

_He had never imagined he would end up here; a depot where wizards joining the war were placed into their respective divisions and jobs. He had always imagined he, Harry and Hermione would be together through it all, would defeat You-Know-Who together. He never would have even dreamed they would end up separated, each going about the war as best they could their own separate ways. Harry was off in the fight, Hermione was patching up the wounded. And he?_

_Well, he did not know yet, but he was about to find out._

"_You're Harry Potter's friend, aye?" the man asked as Ron handed him his papers. _

"_Yeah, that's me," he answered, not wanting to talk long, for people's heads had already begun to rise at the mention of Harry's name._

"_So how come you're here? Shouldn't you be off with him?"_

_He sighed. "That's what I'm trying to figure out."_

_The man grunted, but signed a slip and handed it off to him. "Head further on down the line," he told him. "Report in to Colonel Brownside. He'll tell you where to go."_

_Ron just nodded, not minding much what he was saying._

"_Well, come on then, off you go," the man waved him off with the same impatience as before, calling another man to the table._

_He left without another word as the guy began the same process with the new man. All around the depot, there were people waiting to figure out where they would be headed. Not one of them was a familiar face, one that he could share a word with and hear news he did not already know. He had never felt more alone than he did right then._

"_You Weasley?"_

_The gruff, harsh voice made him look up, and then further up at the big, brown-skinned bald man before him, dressed in military uniform with medals painting his broad chest, his square-like shoulders flat and strong. He looked down with red eyes,his black beard stretching all the way across his face. Ron felt a little intimidated as he looked into those eyes. He nodded._

"_I'm Horace Brownside," the man said, his voice flat and important-sounding. "Commanding officer of Ministry forces. I knew your father during the first war."_

_Brownside...yes, Ron did remember his father mentioning him before. Though from what he could recall, none of what he had said had been particularly good._

"_Follow me," the big man motioned for him to follow. As they walked, he kept talking. "I have been in the service for quite some time. I am probably one of the only commanders left from that first war, so they put me up front with this rag-tag group of wizards and witches. I'm supposed to train several hundred people in a matter of weeks, by myself, or else this whole thing fall apart._

"_There are many people around here, your father included," Brownside went on to say, his voice taking on a more authoritative tone, "that imagine me as mean, inconsiderate, uncaring man; a real bastard. They are not entirely false in their accusations. I can be a bastard if I choose to be, and very often, I will. But my job is to keep you people alive, and to do that, I have to be the biggest bastard that Voldemort has ever seen."_

_Ron had the feeling that Brownside did not particularly care about peoples' opinions on him. He did, however, notice that he was using Voldemort's name; something that very few people did._

"_Now..." He glanced down at his list. "You are to report to Interrogation. Alex Cunningham's superior. Get your gear and meet over with him."_

_Ron frowned. "I was hoping for more of a front line assignment?"_

"_Like your friend, Mr. Potter?" the colonel asked with a sarcastic grin. "Not everyone is suited for front line duty, Mr. Weasley. Some work better as a desk clerk. Which is what I would have preferred for you, but Cunningham needs people on his staff, so that's where you're headed."_

"_To do what? To get information out of people?"_

"_Information on Voldemort," answered Brownside, ripping out a sheet of paper and handing it to him. "And on everything he may be planning to do. That's your mission, Weasley. Now, off you go. Down the field to the right."_

_Ron opened his mouth in continuing protestation, but the colonel gave him a stiff nod and then walked off, probably to look for the next set of volunteers._

_He sighed again, for what felt like the millionth time in hours. Interrogation...what did he know about interrogation? Interrogating Ginny over who stole his cookies from his stash? Why put him doing something he knew nothing about? He should be out there, with Harry and Hermione, doing what he knew they should be doing, finishing off Voldemort. Not stuck here politely asking people if they knew what the Death Eaters were planning for the next week._

_Not like he had a choice either way, at this point._

_Slinging his bag over his shoulder again, he followed Brownside's directions to his destination, a certain sense of dread lingering on in the pit of his stomach._

* * *

_Miles away in a make-shift hospital, Hermione was having similar thoughts. She was surrounded by ten other women and five other men in the medical tent, each one looking just as confused and lost as she felt._

_She had finished her medical training barely a week ago; as usual, she had come out on top. Her trainer had recommended her to what he called "the best fighting unit in Britain", certain that she would be their best bet if things went wrong. Never mind that she was barely eighteen years old, was only a couple of months out of school, and had never done any real field training, except for practice. She had voiced a strong complaint, but it had been overruled due to the war need._

_So here she was, in Tent City, as it was called, waiting for her orders. The other medics were just as new to the whole deal as she was. Only one of them looked like he had some experience, but the way his jaw was set and the way he was looking at the tent flap as if awaiting his death sentence from the Grim Reaper meant that that was not such a good thing. Everyone was silent, no one trying to make friends. All of them were probably holding back because they were unsure of how long their friendships would last._

_  
The tent flapped open just then, and Colonel Brownside entered, along with two of his aides. Upon sight of him, the veteran medic instantly stood up. Everyone else followed his lead._

"_You all know why you're here," said Brownside, cutting straight past the formalities and getting to his point, "so I'm not going to stand here and make your jobs sound easy. You're the medical corps. My men get wounded, you fix them up as best you can without getting hit yourselves. Some of you may live through this; some of you may not."_

_He definitely had a way of getting his point across, although Hermione did not necessarily see this as a good thing. If anything, it just made her job ten times more risky._

"_For the most part, you'll either be in the hospital or at company headquarters," the colonel continued. "But when my men go out, some of you will be coming with us. And there's a very good chance some of you won't come back."_

_Some of the men gulped, their Adam's apples bobbling up and down._

"_But my job is to make sure that doesn't happen," he went on to say. "or at least is minimized. So if you follow my orders, then there's still a chance for you."_

_Hermione did not like the edge in his voice, for two reasons. For one, he did not sound sincere. He tried to act like they would be okay if they did that, but there was no confidence, no support in his voice. And two, because his voice lacked compassion. He seemed to care little for them, if anything at all. Maybe it was because of the war, or that he was just that way in general. Either way, she did not like it._

"_You will find everything needed to treat our patients at the hospital. When we go out, your bags will be prepared for you. In the field, you stay either with the experienced men or toward the rear, unless called upon. You listen to my orders and you do them fast and efficiently. Questions?"_

_They shook their heads in a simultaneous shake, either having no questions, or too nervous to say any of them. And then his eyes fell upon her, and he tensed up. His brow, already furrowed, darkened further when he scanned the bushy hair,the brown eyes. She herself gulped as she realized- he knew who she was. Now she had an idea of what Harry must have felt every time he went out._

"_That will be all for now," he said, and he spoke to the whole tent, even though his eyes were still on her. "You are all dismissed."_

_Slowly, the people in the tent got to their feet, brushed the dirt off their robes and filed out in one or two-man groups. Hermione was the last one to leave; not because she was the least eager to leave but just because she was the smallest of the group and thus ignored by the rest of the team. A shadow fell over and she could feel someone big directly behind her._

"_Two in one day," Brownside's gruff voice said over her head. "Must be my lucky day."_

_His voice tone said that he did not really consider it his lucky day. But the words still made her turn around to stare up at him, looking stunned. Brownside just stared back with the same dull, almost bored expression on his face, but she understood what he was talking about._

_He had seen one of them. Ron or Harry, she did not know which, but he had seen someone._

_Brownside pushed by her without another word and through the tent. Hermione stood alone now, her mind still reeling over the possibility that one of them was closer to her than she had thought._

* * *

_The man stood at about the same height as Ron and looked about the same weight. He was thin like a stick and looked like a geeky teenager, except for the muscles on his arms that were not gained from reading. He had brown hair, combed backwards like a businessman, and wore casual clothes cloaked with a long brown coat and a pair of sunglasses perched on his sharp nose. He was chewing a wad of gum, leaning his back against the brick wall with his arms folded, looking incredibly bored._

_Ron approached him apprehensively, staring him up and down. The man did not seem to even notice his presence, looking past him instead of at him. He finally did when Ron was directly in front of him, looking at the piece of paper in his hand and back up at him._

"_Um...are you Alex Cunningham?" he asked._

_The man lowered his glasses to reveal brown-green colored eyes. Ron felt like they were piercing right through him like a sword._

"_You our new guy?"_

_His voice took Ron by surprise. He was expecting a British or Scottish or Irishman to be in charge. Not an American._

"_Yeah," he replied, a little taken aback._

_The man- if he could be called that; now that he was closer, Ron could see he was closer to his own age than to Brownside's; twenty, maybe twenty-one at that-let out a laugh and looked over to a small group of men standing idly a few feet away._

"_Hey Omar," he called out, "Get a load of our new recruit."_

_An older man, taller than them and even more well-built, strode over to them. This man had to be in his mid-thirties, broad-shoulders, narrow eyes, several days of growth nestling on his serious face that cracked a crooked-toothed smile when he laid eyes on Ron. His head was shaved and his skin was brown and dirty; this was the look of a soldier._

"_Ah, kids. Funny shit," the brown-haired kid shook his head with a sigh. "Alright, I suppose you'll do. Name?"_

"_Uh, Ron Weasley."_

_Given that they were both Americans, Ron did not expect his name to have much of a heavy impact on them. He was mistaken, apparently; Omar's grin slid off his face, and Cunningham removed his glasses entirely, an amused, surprised look on his face as he studied the tall red-head._

"_The Chosen One's fanny-pack," he clucked his tongue. "Well...Brownside really does like me."_

_He finally raised his hand forward and out in front of the red-head. Ron shook it carefully, keeping his guard up. That feeling of unease around the man was too unsettling to just let go._

"_I'm Alex Cunningham, senior member," he confirmed, then nudged his head in the other man's direction. "This is Omar, co-head honcho. Follow us, we'll get you settled."_

_Ron lifted his bag back over his shoulder and followed the other two as they entered the square-shaped brick building that was serving as their headquarters. Both men walked straight-backed yet casually; like they were doing it more for show than for posture._

"_You're not British?" The question seemed like the most obvious one. The only American he had ever met was a man who had traveled from Washington to Fred and George's joke shop to complain about their products. The accent had sounded silly to him at the time, but now it did not._

"_Nope, red white and blue all the way," replied Cunningham with a laugh. "I'm from San Diego; he's from Vegas."_

"_So...why are you fighting somebody else's war?"_

_He laughed again._

"_Buddy, do you have any idea how BORING it is back in the States?" he asked, then continued right away before Ron could answer. "Nothing interesting ever happens in America, it's one finger up the nose and the other on the remote control for my people. And over here, we've got a war against the most evil man in the world. That's good enough reason for me."_

"_But...you're doing Auror work. You're just gathering information, not really fighting."_

_Cunningham just smiled._

"_Oh, you have no idea how fun this job really is."_

_There was something about that that made Ron shudder._

_They reached the barracks and Omar opened the door. There were four other men in the barracks, all having claimed their bunks, almost all of them looking like Omar; tough, determined, warriors. It was confusing why they were here instead of on the front lines. _

"_Mathew will help you get settled," said Cunningham, slapping Ron's back. "Get some good rest, 'cause tomorrow, you get to see the fun stuff."_

_He winked, and then he and Omar left._

_Mathew came up right then. The only member of the crew that was not entirely buff or rugged looking, he was a short skinny kid with a wild, friendly looking face, black hair that fell over his left eye and a large burn mark on his right arm, and when he grinned, he looked like an innocent little boy caught in a man's war. He looked Ron's age; maybe even younger._

"_Ron Weasley? Wow," he said as he lead Ron to the far end of the barracks. "Heard the stories, never expected to see one of them with my own eyes."_

"_One of whom?" asked Ron._

"_One of the Chosen One's people. His friends, or whatever. Oh, I'm Mathew, by the way, I'm from New Hampshire. I'm the, uh, 'office bitch', I guess you could say, I get the coffees and the paperwork and all that jazz. I'm basically the go-to man, anything you need you just let me know and if I don't got it, I can probably steal it for you or something."_

_He was energetic to an annoying degree, and Ron could see that it was pretty easy to be irritated by him._

"_Well, here's your bunk," Mathew kicked the bed that looked the least used. "Dinner's at eight. We dine at table twelve. Soup and potatoes, I believe. Tomorrow we're getting two Death Eaters sent to us from the front-"_

"_Wait, what?" Ron demanded, suddenly alarmed and feeling cold. "Death Eaters? Here?"_

"_Yeah, of course. How else do you think we get our information? Civilians won't tell us shit cause they don't know shit."_

"_But...but...Death Eaters? They're loyal to Voldemort, you can't get them to talk."_

_Mathew grinned again, but this time it was not the innocent grin that made him look ten years younger. It was a crazy grin, one that he had seen twice before; on Dolohov, that day in the Ministry when he had cursed Hermione, and just moments ago on Cunningham's face. It was the grin of a psychopath._

"_Oh trust me," he said, in a voice that he had not been using a moment ago, "we can get them to talk."_

_The shiver that went up his spine grew even colder when he heard that._

* * *

"_Crucio."_

_The man in the chair suddenly started jerking and twitching like a mad man, fighting the bonds that tied him to his chair. He let out a scream, bloodcurdling, one that was in the worst possible physical pain a person could be in without having a mark on his body._

"_Crucia."_

_Cunningham waved his wand and the man slumped forward, his head hanging, gasping for air. Beside him, his associate, a young woman, was also tied to a chair. She watched on, horrified, at what was taking place._

_Cunningham stepped forward, his face expressionless. The tortured man looked up at him, panting, looking scared and at the same time looking defiant. The brown-haired man bent down so that his face was level with the prisoner's._

_"Yo man," he said in a calm, carefree voice. "Why don't you just tell us where you've got the shit hidden."_

_The man started talking, all of it nonsense, just mumbled, unintelligent words caused by the loss of thought to his brain. BAM! Cunningham slammed his fist into the man's face, knocking two teeth out. Ron was the only member of the team who flinched; the others were unfazed, used to it._

_"You know you're really not helping matters when you keep stalling," he said, standing up and pacing around the man. "It just makes things so much worse for yourself."_

_All the while that he talked, his hand reached for the bat they kept in the corner, his fingers curling around the grip. Ron's eyes widened. Before he could even open his mouth, however, Cunningham whirled around and smashed the bat against the top of the man's head. The force knocked him to the ground; he cried out in pain, moaning and rocking himself on the floor._

_"And I'm getting REAL fucking tired of you ducking me, man! Now tell me where you've got the shit hidden!"_

_The woman shouted something, only to be answered by Omar's hand slapping her across her face. The room was spinning; Ron felt himself getting sick. It was all he could do to keep himself composed._

_The man still did not answer him, and though his facial expression did not change, Cunningham's impatience was growing. He grabbed the chair and brought it back onto its legs. He then reached into his pocket and pulled out a pocket knife. He pulled out the blade and tossed it across the room at Mathew, who caught it quick as a flash._

"_Take an ear," said Cunningham._

"_What?!" Ron finally produced words from his wide-open mouth._

"_He heard me," the American man replied. "Mathew, do it."_

_Mathew did not hesitate. In a swift movement he was on the man's lap, knife in hand. He brought the knife slowly to the man's left ear, ignoring the whimpered cries._

_Ron turned his head away, but not soon enough not to see the blade begin its slice through the pinna of the ear. He squeezed his eyes shut, but already he could picture Mathew's arm moving back and forth like a saw, cutting through the ear. But what was worse than that thought was the screams; the bloodcurdling, almost demonic shrieks of pain. Every scream from the Cruciatus Curse he had ever heard did not come close to the torment here; it sounded even worse, because here, someone was losing his ear. As bad as the curse was, it could not compare with losing a body part._

_He heard Mathew get back to his feet, and when he looked back he again fought the urge to vomit. Mathew was holding the pinna and the lobe of the ear in his hand. The man the ear had come from sat upright, wheezing and sobbing. Blood flowed freely from what was left of his ear, down the side of his face and dripping on the floor. The woman was looking at him and crying, near hysterics._

"_Hello? HELLO? Hey, can ya hear me there?" Mathew shouted into the severed ear, then laughed and tossed the remains into Cunningham's open waiting palm._

_None of the men were the least bit disturbed by the mutilation. Omar was openly smiling over seeing the one-eared man bleeding out. The only one in the room who was freaking out- aside from the two people tied to the chairs- was their newest member._

"_Hey!" Cunningham slapped the man in the face with the torn remnants of his ear, then threw them aside. "You see what happens when you don't talk? You want to lose the other ear too? Start talking!"_

_Ron looked at the man with pity. But the man looked up at him and the only thing in his eyes, other than pain, was hatred. The Death Eaters' hate. The woman next to him was looking at the others with the exact same look. Both of them looked like they were eighteen years old, and the hatred of the Death Eaters had taken hold of them._

_The man suddenly glanced at the woman, looking nervously at her. Cunningham slapped his face back to look at him._

"_Don't look at your little whore, I'm talking to you! Tell me where you got the shit hidden!"_

_Again the man threw a glance at the woman. The woman bit her lip. Cunningham slapped him again._

"_STOP LOOKING AT THE FUCKING WHORE! TELL ME WHAT I WANT TO KNOW!"_

_Omar suddenly cleared his throat. Cunningham stopped screaming at the prisoner and looked over his shoulder at the other man. Omar nodded his head to the woman, who looked up at him and suddenly went pale. Cunningham looked from one to the other, then grinned._

"_Ohhh...I see how it is now," he said, standing up. "YOU'RE the one I should be talking to, not this bag of waste..."_

"_No," the man finally spoke in words, looking at his partner. "Don't...don't tell them a fucking thing-"_

"_Avada Kedavra."_

_The green light flashed for a split second, but in that second, when it ended, the man was hunched over in the chair again, his eyes open and unseeing. The woman let out a scream. Ron fought the urge to do the same._

_Cunningham now walked ever so slowly to the woman, who tore her gaze away from her dead partner to look up at him. She was trembling from head to toe; her lips were shaking, her teeth chattering. He just smiled at her._

"_You know what I want, right?" he asked her._

_She nodded._

"_Why don't you tell me what I want. Out loud, so we all know."_

_She gulped, frightened._

"_You...You want the orbs. The ones used for the Dark Lord's plans-"_

"_The ones your little master decided to 'borrow' from a convoy headed to Gringotts Bank. Yeah, I know all about them. Don't know what the hell they do, but hey, that ain't none of my business. What IS my business is getting them back. So tell us where you got them stashed, and everything's cool in the game."_

_She looked around at the other men, looking at one face to the other. With the exception of Ron, none of them looked at her with contempt. She looked down at the ground, not answering, not saying a word. Mathew rolled up his sleeves._

"_I can do it again, Alex, just say the word," he said._

"_No," said Cunningham, again standing up. "Ron will do it."_

_At first, he thought he had not heard correctly. At first he thought he had used the wrong name. But then he looked up and saw the rest of the team staring at him, some amused, some questioning, and he knew he had heard right._

"_M...Me?" he asked nervously._

"_Yeah, don't worry about it, it's easy."_

_Cunningham grabbed his arm and brought him forward to the woman, positioning him so that he was standing right in front of her. He took the red-head's wand and placed it in his hands._

"_Just say the spell for the Cruciatus Curse. It's simple," he said it as though it were like making toast._

_Ron gulped and looked around at the others, none who were giving him any comforting expressions, and then at the woman in front of him who was now looking at him as though he were the devil. His hands, holding the wand, shook. Nervous sweat was beginning to slide down his nose, some into his eyes, blurring his vision._

_Cunningham saw his nervousness and placed his hand on his shoulder._

"_Look man," he said, his voice low so that only he could hear it. "I'm not one of your professors at school. I'm not asking you to do it; I'm TELLING you."_

_If ever there was a time in his life where Ron said he had to make the toughest decision in regards to another person's life, it would have to be that moment in that small cramped room with the young woman sitting in front of him. Never had he been in a place where he had to hurt someone against his will, much less torture someone. And the worst part about it was, as Cunningham had just pointed out, he had no choice._

_He raised his wand at the woman's chest. With his eyes, he said "I'm sorry." With his mouth, he said "Crucio."_

_The woman's scream exploded in his ear drums as she jerked and twisted in her bindings. It was like watching somebody get shocked, have that Muggle "electricity" running through her body. Ron held the wand pointed with trembling hands as the chair moved with every big tug._

_She twisted left and suddenly the chair toppled over and she fell to the floor. The wand followed her down as though it were connected to her via an invisible tether. Tears streamed down her face as her screams grew louder, so loud her vocal cords were almost destroyed._

_Tears welled up in his eyes too, but his pain was nowhere near this one. His heart went out to this girl being tortured in front of his eyes, by his own hand. How could this be allowed? Not even the Death Eaters could be this cruel..._

"_Alright, that's enough."_

_The words barely left Cunningham's mouth when Ron dropped the wand to the floor and sank to his knees, breathing heavily. He then fell back onto his butt, bringing his knees up to his chin, his eyes on the woman breathing heavily on the ground, barely moving._

_Strange, how he could punch Malfoy in the nose without remorse, but he could not do this without breaking into tears. The difference between the two was obvious, he knew that, and yet he thought of all the times he had wanted to hurt, KILL Malfoy...and now..._

"_Get her out of here."_

_Two of the men, a small guy and a big man with a face that looked like a hornless rhinoceros, cut the ropes, grabbed the woman, one on each arm, and dragged her off. Her eyes were closed, her head unmoving except with the movement; she was unconscious. The third man, a thin man with a long nose, trailed off behind them._

_Cunningham knelt down and placed his hand on Ron's shoulder._

"_It's alright, man," he told him. "Everyone freaks out the first time they have to do it. It's not something to be proud of, but you'll get used to it."_

_That was the worst thought of them all; knowing that yes, he would indeed get used to it._

* * *

_The man was screaming worse than the others had been. He was burned from head to toe, his skin pure black, pieces tearing off in flakes and in chunks. His hair was all but gone, just small strands that had managed to stay attached to his skull. His lips were no longer lips, but hardened, twisted pieces of rope, the bottom one half hanging off, about to fall any moment. His eyes were the only white part of his body, wide open because of his missing eyelids, bloodshot and scared, staring up at the Healers with a longing to live and a hope not to die._

_It was all Hermione could to keep herself from fainting every time she looked at him, all she could do to stop her stomach from churning every time she touched his dead, rotting skin. The potions that were to heal him were merely acting as pain relievers at the moment, and thus far, they were not doing as good a job. He was the eighth burn case to come in in the last hour, and she knew there were at least five more to come in the next hour._

"_Keep him stable," she said to the two other Healers, two men named Kevin and Jeff._

"_This is insane," said Jeff, a young man of twenty-two from Bath, with short brown hair and brown eyes and an intelligent look to a face that was tired and disheartened by the sight of the burned man. "He's the twelfth case to come in this week, and that's just THIS week. We don't have enough potion to deal with this many burn cases!"_

"_I need to talk to the Colonel," said Hermione, pulling off her gloves. "He needs to get us more supplies."_

"_Oh, like he's going to listen to us?" Kevin, the baby of the two men at nineteen from Edinburgh, with light brown hair and blue eyes and a young, playful face that right now was caught between despair and anger. "I've been trying to get some fucking supplies in here for the last month, and he's still not getting us anything!"_

"_Well, we have to try!" Hermione shouted back. Her hair was a mess from lack of showering and her face had dirt streaks and looked as though she had not slept in days-which she had not. "At the rate we're going with these patients, we're doing more harm than good. Keep him stabilized, I'll be back as soon as I can."_

_She spun around on her heels and pushed out the door. More screams erupted behind her as the two men tried to keep him calm._

_Colonel Brownside's office was right down the hall, and the moment she got there she grabbed the knob and threw the door open. When she had first arrived there, she had always knocked on his door, out of courtesy and a little for the respect of his rank. Now she did not care. Now she just stormed in, out of anger, out of frustration, and out of a need to tear something- or someone- in half. Formalities and manners were far gone._

_Brownside was sitting at his desk, looking over a file that he slid in front of Hermione as she slammed her hands onto his desk. On top of the file was a picture of a metal circular object hanging off a chain. At first glance it looked like a pot, but there were carvings that could show the inside, and she saw white flames shooting out of the slits._

"_The Death Eaters have developed a new weapon," he told her. "A kind of fire cracker. It's thrown by this chain and explodes upon impact with the ground. When it explodes, the targets are engulfed in flames. It explains all of the burned casualties we've been receiving lately."_

"_We need more help." As frightening as that report was, it was not the thought on Hermione's mind. "We do not have the supplies or manpower necessary to treat this many cases."_

"_The burn cases are being transferred to aid stations all over the line." Brownside closed the file and placed it back into the cabinet. "You'll just have to make do as best you can."_

"_But we have NOTHING! How are we supposed to treat their burns when we don't even have the potions to numb the pain? I'm telling you, we can't do it!"_

"_And I'm telling you," he retorted with a glare, "that you'll work with what you've got. There are shortages everywhere. We just need to make do."_

"_We can't make do on nothing, Colonel. My staff is wearing themselves thin trying to make these people comfortable, but caring for them as well as the wounded Death Eaters that have been sent to us is stretching us. We can't keep doing our jobs like this, or more people are going to die."_

"_As long as theirs die first." Brownside stood up and placed his hands behind his back. "Our men take first priority over any prisoners that arrive here. They are not going to die just because Death Eaters may have more severe wounds."_

_Now Hermione raised an eyebrow._

"_What are you saying? That you'll let those people die just so that our soldiers are saved?"_

"_Yes, Miss Granger. That is exactly what I am saying."_

_She lowered her hands to her side as she let his words sink in. His solution was to let them kill the enemy wounded in order to save their own wounded. He was willing to let those people perish just because they were the enemy. As a member of the medical staff, that did not sit well with her._

"_How can you allow that?" she demanded. "Aren't they people too? Don't they deserve a chance to live as well?"_

"_You talk of these people as if they actually have souls." Brownside walked to his window and stared out onto the grounds, his back to the young woman. "These people are evil, Miss Granger. They torture, rape, and kill countless numbers of people with no regards of the consequences of their actions. And their so-called 'lord' Voldemort is every bit as ruthless and more. They don't deserve our pity or our mercy. They deserve to die just as painfully as they let their victims die."_

"_I can't believe that, Colonel. They're still people too, they've just been brainwashed."_

_Brownside just turned back to her, with a hard look in his eyes._

"_If you continue to believe that, then you will die out there in the field."_

* * *

"_You alright there, Ron?"_

_Ron looked up as Cunningham sat down next to him, placing his tray down onto the table next to his partner's half-empty one._

_Ron stared at his tray- or rather, at his reflection in the tray. His face had a hardened, weathered look to it, his eyes tired, no traces of happiness at all. He sighed. Six weeks of doing brutal, inhumane things to people took its toll very quickly._

_He looked up at the others. Omar was eating his pork chops in silence, ever the quiet one. Mathew was lively telling a story to two other members of the team, waving his hands around as he said it. Everyone was completely at peace; everyone except for him._

"_C'mon, out with it. What's eating you?"_

_Ron sighed. "Just what we're doing," he answered. "Using the torture curse, cutting off ears, beating people with bats and pipes...all of it just feels extreme."_

_Cunningham chewed at his bread and stared at him for a long time. The look was unreadable, as it always was; for such a young guy, he kept a good poker face. Ron did not know whether it was because he was American and born with it or had just learned to do it over time._

"_I've been watching you these last few weeks, Ron," he said. "You're just out of school and you're not ready for something like this. I get that. But I can see the part of you that accepts this; the part of you that is getting a kick out of it, enjoying what he's doing. And the thing is, it's really not that bad."_

_Ron looked up at him with an incredulous look. "Not that bad?"_

"_Not really. Look, man; those guys asked for it the moment they signed up with Voldemort. If they didn't want this shit to happen to them, then they shouldn't have done all their shit to us. Every single guy in this room lost someone to these damn people."_

"_Like who?"_

"_Like Mathew. Death Eaters barge into his house one day, tie the whole family down, torture and kill both his parents and his two-year-old sister right in front of his eyes. Then they set the place on fire, shoot the Dark Mark up into the sky and take off, leaving him and his other kid sister to burn alive."_

_Ron again looked over at Mathew, who was still animatedly telling his story, as if nothing was wrong. He looked back at Cunningham, shocked._

"_That really happened?" It was the only thing he could think to ask._

"_You see that burn on his arm? He had to crawl through the flames to get out of there. Medics patched it up as best they could, but it never really healed quite right. He put the flames on his arm out and passed out with the sounds of his sister screaming her lungs dry echoing in his head."_

_Ron could not say anything. Mathew had never told him...never gave any implication that something was wrong. He was always the happiest, if completely psychotic in the interrogation process, member on the team, always the most talkative. You never would have guessed he had been through such horrific scenes._

_Cunningham continued. "He's okay now, this was three years ago, but he lets it all out when we get the prisoners coming in. That's why I let him do what he wants in there. If cutting off one of their ears, if peeling the skin off of one of their fingers helps make everything right in his world, who am I to deny him that? Those monsters killed his family. Why shouldn't he extract some revenge?"_

"_Because revenge doesn't make everything right. Cutting people up won't bring his family back."_

"_True. Nothing can bring them back. But in his mind, it's as close as he's ever going to get."_

_Ron shook his head. He just could not accept that mentality. Trading a life for a life did not work, he knew that all too well._

"_What about you? Why do you do this, what's your reason?" he demanded._

"_My reason?" Cunningham grinned. "My reason is simple; this is too much fun. I like giving these guys what for. I like beating them up, smacking them around, breaking bones, all that. It gives me a thrill."_

"_But it's wrong, Alex."_

_He just laughed and played with his peas, rolling one back and forth with his fork until he split it in half._

"_What is wrong?" he finally asked. "Eight months of torturing people and all senses of right and wrong go out the window. Honest to God, I don't even remember what wrong IS anymore..."_

* * *

_It started out normally enough. The colonel and his patrol had crossed the river to scout the enemy camp, in hopes of gathering intelligence and possibly a prisoner or two. They had not alerted the Death Eaters to their presence so far, and they hoped to keep it that way._

_For Hermione, this felt exceptionally dangerous. So far, however, there was not so much as a brush of disaster. Everything seemed to be going according to plan, whatever the plan was. She did not really know. Her role in this was strictly medical. A precaution._

_Another group slid in to join their ranks, with no questions or any real recognition between the two. They walked alongside each other casually, as though they were just walking through a park. They just blended together, like pieces of a puzzle._

_Hermione walked alongside one of the people from the new group, trying to find her way through the dark without tripping and possibly giving themselves away. She was more and more finding this to be difficult, as the terrain was becoming more and more rocky. Every once and a while she would hear a grunt and rocks sliding, and she knew someone had just slipped._

_She needed some light. Not a lot, just enough to see about five inches in front of her. Surely it would not be too much trouble, just a little light? Just enough to see, give her at least that._

_She reached into her pocket for her wand, and just as she pulled it out her foot slipped on the surface of a rock and she tripped, her wand landing in front of her about two feet away._

_She cursed silently and reached forward for his wand just as the new man reached forward as well. His hand got to it first, and he wrapped it in his fingers and stood back up._

_Grateful, she stood and reached forward and grabbed the wand._

"_Thanks so much, I-" She looked up at him and froze._

_The man was dressed in all black robes. The hood was up and pointed like a spike in the earth. His face was covered with a skull mask, his eyes like bloody diamonds glaring down at her. She glanced behind him quickly and her body grew even colder when she realized they were all dressed the same._

_**The other group were Death Eaters.**_

_What happened next was a blur in her memory. Hermione pulled her wand out of his hands just as his other hand reached for his wand. The force of pulling it back, plus the terrain, caused her to fall backwards as he pointed his wand and fired off the Killing Curse, which flew over her head and exploded into the rocks._

_That was when everything turned into a firefight. One minute it was a quiet patrol, the next it was a noisy war. Both sides flung red and green curses at one another, sometimes missing, sometimes scoring a direct hit. Screams and shouts ran up both lines, and every once and a while there was a howl of pain, and sometimes there was just a grunt and a body hitting the ground._

_Hermione started crawling back to her side, but was stopped by a tug at the hem of her robes. Turning her head she saw the Death Eater pointing his wand right into her face. He opened his mouth to say the words-_

_And then the green spell exploded into his chest, throwing him backwards and into one of his men. Both fell to the ground; only one struggled to get back up._

_And then Colonel Brownside was at her side, yanking her to her feet with one hand and firing curses with another. He shouted behind him to the remaining survivors to grab those hit by curses who were still breathing and get them back to their lines. The plan was blown up; the only thing they could do now was retreat, or be captured or killed._

_It was too hectic. All she remembered was seeing Jeff and Kevin dragging wounded men as fast as they could, others running with them, some throwing curses behind them, some dropping as curses hit them._

_Curses continued to fly over their heads, and then there was an explosion and an inhumane scream. Hermione glanced behind her and saw a huge fireball implode not feet behind them, and a man spinning around, completely on fire, his arms flailing in the air as he screamed for help._

_Her eyes widened. The Death Eaters were using their fire bombs._

_Two more landed in rapid succession. The last one sent two men flying through the air, flames flapping from their robes. One landed to her right, and as they passed, she was the lifelessness in his burned eyes, staring up into the night sky. The sight of the man, who had been living just moments before, was a sight she would never get used to._

_It took forever for them to get back to their lines, and by the time they got back, half their ranks were depleted, and of the half they had left, several were severely wounded. Brownside lifted Hermione back onto her feet, glaring at her._

"_Granger..." He growled, shaking his head. "You're the only person I know of who would start a fight this bad."_

_Another explosion rocketed behind them, and she looked back to see the biggest explosion yet, and also the most harmless. But it was like comparing the mission; this was the biggest blow-up she had ever seen. And, according to the colonel, it was all her fault._

"_Keep this incident under your hat," he said under his breath so that it was between the two of them. "If anyone asks, they ambushed us."_

_She frowned. "Why are you asking me to lie?"_

"_It's in your best interest." He brushed off his uniform and glared back down at her. "You're the best medic we've got; the last thing I need is there to be an inquiry because you were being clumsy."_

_He turned and walked off, leaving her to grasp at his words. She looked back at the lit-up field, the fires burning just as brightly as when they were started. She looked at the wounded while Kevin and Jeff tried to help them, throwing concerned looks at her as they did. She looked down at herself, to make sure she was okay, and found that her hands were shaking uncontrollably._

_As she pocketed her wand and tried to calm herself down, she found it kind of funny that a night went from good to bad all because she had been clumsy._

* * *

_There was something about the house that gave Ron the creeps._

_It was a two-story house, fairly quaint, built upon a clips overlooking the ocean near the town of Dublith. It was blue-gray, the paint fading and falling off, with windows that had one square broken in some place or another. The chimney was crumbling, and as they approached it, another brick fell off the top. Why it was allowed to stand, he could not figure out._

_The six men walked up to the door, which was still on its hinges but barely so. Cunningham knocked twice, waited for a moment to no answer, then looked back on them._

"_Ron, Mathew, you two wait out here," he said. "Everyone else, with me."_

_Mathew sat down against the house as Omar and the three others on the team walked into the house. Ron grabbed Cunningham's arm._

"_What are you going to do?" he demanded._

"_Relax. We're just gonna talk to the broad who owns the place," answered Cunningham, smirking. "Just talking, man. Nothing big."_

_He winked at him and joined the rest in the house. Ron watched him go, the bad feeling in his stomach getting worse instead of better._

"_Relax, man," said Mathew as his red-headed friend sat down next to him. "Alex says the woman knows some stuff on the Death Eater movement. Word is Voldemort's going to be coming right through the town near here, and we need to learn when and where and all that."_

"_I know, it's just...with Alex, it's never just talking," Ron shook his head. "Someone usually gets hurt."_

_He kicked at the grass as he remembered the previous night's case; a man who had to be in his sixties that had four toes sliced off his left foot and a pole jammed through his right foot before he talked. While he had participated in the Cruciatus Curse on this man, Ron had to leave the room after the pole jamming the foot, because he knew what was next the minute Omar pulled the knife out._

"_Can I ask you something?" he suddenly asked._

_Mathew looked up from spelling his name in the dirt with his wand, puzzled._

"_Sure man, what's up?" he asked._

_Ron looked back at him with a pained look. The kid was young; only sixteen years old, his birthday in another month. He was such a friendly kid despite his appearance of dark clothing and his hair falling over an eye. Seeing him here when he should be home with a family tore him up inside every time they were together._

"_When...when the Death Eaters burned your house down," he asked, "I mean...why did they do it, did you ever find out?"_

_Mathew's smile slid off his face. His eyes lowered gloomily._

"_Alex told you about that, huh?" he asked._

_Ron nodded slowly._

"_My dad fought in the First War against Voldemort, and...he was one of their generals. He really did a number on the Death Eaters, killed them by the numbers. And not just killed them; he did a lot of the stuff that Alex has been doing. Beating prisoners, cutting off limbs...one time he even concocted some spell that violently removed all the nerves in a guy's body._

"_Real gruesome stuff, man. Worse than whatever the Death Eaters were doing. Got him a ton of enemies on that side of the line. When the war ended he moved back home to New Hampshire, to get away from those who were hunting him down, and we figured that was the end of that._

"_But when Voldemort came back...I dunno, I guess he got a hold of one of dad's friends from the war and he told them where my family was. So then they showed up, and we really got the what-for. Whatever Dad did to them, they returned it tenfold. And then they started doing the same to my sisters..."_

_His fists clenched together tightly. He looked away, sniffing loudly. Ron watched him somberly, wishing he could understand the depth of his pain. He was suddenly reminded of Harry, and realized that the two were not so different from each other._

"_So I came here," continued the kid, looking back and wiping his eyes. "and I joined up here 'cause Brownside and Alex were letting us do whatever we wanted to Death Eater prisoners. And I know what I'm doing is wrong, but...it just feels good, y'know? Like, I'd be avenging my family, and everything would be okay again."_

"_But that's not how it works, Mathew," Ron replied. "Two wrongs don't equal a right. What you're doing is the reason the Death Eaters came after your family. It's a cycle, don't you see? Alex is fueling you with these thoughts on revenge. Sixteen years old, you should be playing Quidditch, not cutting off people's ears."_

_Mathew sighed._

"_I know...and deep inside I know what we're doing is wrong. But Alex, he just doesn't get it. Right and wrong don't apply to him, he just does this stuff because...I don't know, because he can, I guess. And...I got a glance into his file one time when I was on duty there..."_

_Ron's ears perked up._

"_All kinds of weird stuff in there, man. This goes way back than just this war; he's been known for psychotic tendencies since he was just six. He was incarcerated at one point, locked away for four years, but then his brother broke him out. The guys been torturing longer than I've been alive, and he does it all just for greedy pleasure, like he WANTS to do it, like he NEEDS to do it."_

_Mathew shook his head and sighed. Ron sat back, aghast. Cunningham was the most secretive of them all, but even still, this kind of history was so obvious he should have realized it right away. Brownside had hired a certified psychopath to head his Interrogating department, and at results Ron knew the colonel would love._

"_Mathew," he said, "let's keep this between ourselves, alright? No matter what, let's stick together, get each others' backs, got it?"_

"_Yeah, man. No problem."_

_They sat in silence for a little while, leaning against the house, the younger of the two still playing with the grass. Ron reached into his coat pocket and pulled out the picture from graduation. Hermione. The only face in the group he stared at was Hermione's. And in his mind he wondered, what was she doing now? Was she okay? It satisfied him to know that however messed up he may be becoming from this experience, at least his feelings for her had not changed._

"_What's this from?" asked Mathew._

"_Graduation, a couple months before we came out here," answered Ron, passing him the picture. "That's me in the center."_

"_Is that your girl next to you? She's cute."  
_

_His face reddened. "Yeah, that's her. She's with the medical division."_

_Mathew laughed, handing it back to him. "That definitely makes her smarter than either of us, huh?"_

_Ron laughed too._

"_Yeah, that's Hermione for you," he said._

_He laid back and closed his eyes and allowed his brain to take him back to that last day at Hogwarts. Had he known he would be where he was now, he would have asked Hermione to run away with him. Or at least just gone ahead with Harry, had he not just up and left them in the middle of the night. Anything to get him away from here and back to her._

_Hermione...how much had she changed? Would she be completely different from how he remembered her? He had only had two letters from her in the last three months, so he had no idea what was going on with her. All he knew was that she was safe, which was the most important thing that mattered to him, but what if she had met someone there? Would she stay with him, even after she learned of all the horrible things he had been doing?_

_God, he loved her so much, but it was the constant thought on his mind that when she learned of his months with Cunningham's crew, then she would leave him. It asked the question of, should he even tell her? And the answer to that was, he would not. If asked, he only asked questions; no torture curse, no cutting tongues out of heads, nothing. It was a move to protect her, and also to protect himself from the knowledge of what he had done, of what he had helped to do. He could not forget them, but he could try._

_Smiling, he pictured Hermione and Harry in his mind, sitting by a lake and laughing. When this war was over, they could live that again. There were so many things they would be able to do when this war ended, and with school finally over, their options were endless. He could imagine himself sitting in between the two, his arm around Hermione's waist, telling a joke and laughing with his friends. He could envision leaning over and kissing her cheek, watching her blush at the same time as his face would go red as well. Her head buried into his chest as he held her in his arms..._

"_Wake up, you two. Come on in."_

_Ron's eyes sprung open and he turned his head as Cunningham and Omar came sauntering out. He shook his head clear; he must have fallen asleep. He glanced at Mathew, who was also shaking his head and rubbing his eyes, and he guessed they had both fallen asleep. He looked back at Cunningham._

"_Sorry, got tired," he replied_

"_The woman says we can stay here and prepare for when Voldemort shows up," Cunningham told the two, wiping his hands together. "The rest of the army should be making their advance into town tomorrow."_

"_Sounds good." Ron rolled his sleeve back and glanced at his watch. His sleepy eyes widened._

"_What the hell?" He shot his head back up at him. "It took you three hours just to talk to her?"_

"_Yeah...sort of," replied Cunningham with a smirk._

"_What the hell were you talking about that lasted three hours?"_

_Mathew suddenly sniffed the air._

"_Why does it smell like blood and sweat?" he asked._

"_Yeah, it's gonna smell like that for a little while," was their boss's reply._

_There was a pause._

"_Alex," said Ron, his voice suddenly low and dangerous, "what did you do?"_

"_Hey, keep in mind, we've all been without a woman for a few months now," Cunningham held his arms in the air in defense. "The chick in there, she's pretty cute. Only twelve or thirteen, but pretty cute."_

"_Oh sweet Jesus, Alex," Mathew's face suddenly paled. "Please tell me you didn't-"_

_Ron pushed Omar aside, almost knocking the big man to the ground, and ran into the house. There was a long hallway, leading all the way to a single window overlooking the lake, with openings into the other room on either side, two to his right and three to his left. He took his first left, where the other three men on the team were huddled in front of the arch, blocking his view into the room. He pushed past the short man and the burly man and got his first look to the far end, next to the fireplace._

_What he saw was an image he would never forget._

_The girl had to have been no older than thirteen, and barely into that age at that, with dark hair and dark eyes and a pale face and a figure that was developing nicely for her age. Her hair was messy and strands fell down her face. Her lip was bloated and cut, and there were bruises and cuts that scrapped across her face, neck, arms and legs. Her pants and underwear had been violently pulled off, her legs spread as far as they could go, and her slit was bleeding profusely onto the floor, her hymen ripped apart, her opening forced wide. She looked up at the latest arrival, tears streaming her eyes, eyes blood-red and puffy, and fear spread across her beaten face, fearful that another man was coming in to have his way with her._

_Ron just stood there with a repulsed, terrified expression on his face. Never in his life had he seen anything like this. There was no words to describe how terrible this sight was, how monstrous it was. All caused by the men that were standing around him with smiles on their faces._

_That was when Cunningham, Mathew and Omar came in to join them. Mathew clamped his hand to his mouth when he saw the woman, his eyes wide, horrified. Seconds later, he was over to the side of the room, retching, his breakfast lumpy and gray as it came back out his mouth and onto the ground. Cunningham placed his hand on Ron's shoulder._

"_She was pretty quiet, and she didn't put up too much of a struggle," he explained. "If you want, I know you have a girlfriend and all, but she's ready if you want to have a quick go-"_

_The next thing he knew, Ron's fist had shot up and slammed into his mouth with a hard CRACK! He spun and fell to the ground, blood dribbling from his lips, hand over his mouth as he spit out a tooth. Omar made a step forward, but Ron aimed his wand at him as he glared down at his partner._

"_You sick son of a bitch," he said, his voice shaking with rage. "You low, cowardly, scum of the earth piece of shit, what the FUCK is WRONG with you?!"_

_Cunningham lowered his hand and turned back up to him. No longer was there the friendly, carefree look to his eyes that he always managed to have for his teammates was gone; a cold, hard glare had replaced it, a look that Ron had learned to know all too well. It was the look a Death Eater always gave them. His mouth twisted into a sneer._

"_It disgusts you, I take it?" he asked, his voice a venomous hiss. "This girl laying here, ready and available? It disgust you to even look at her, to think about her?"_

"_It disgusts me what you did to her," answered Ron, not backing down. "Everything you've done to people since I came here has done nothing but repulse me. But I guess I shouldn't expect anything more from an asylum-escapee."_

_Cunningham flinched, and out of the corner of his eye, Ron saw Omar hesitate, glancing at his friend with a confused look. This was Cunningham's secret, and now everyone here knew. Then the brown -haired man glanced over at Mathew._

"_You feel the same way, kid?" he asked him. "After all these months together, you're going to take his side? That what you were talking about out there? You agreeing with Ronnie-boy now?"_

"_I...I...I mean..." Mathew let out a petrified gasp, "Alex, she's a little girl, for Christ's sakes!"_

_Cunningham glared back up at Ron, whose wand was still trained on Omar but whose eyes were still locked down on him._

"_So this is how it's going to be, huh?" he asked, with a sigh. "You stand, with a wand pointing at one of your friends-"_

"_YOU'RE NOT MY FRIENDS!" screamed Ron into his face. "MATHEW'S MY FRIEND! YOU'RE ALL JUST A BUNCH OF PSYCHOS WHO TORTURE AND RAPE BECAUSE IT GIVES YOU A GOOD FEELING! YOU'RE MANIACS!"_

"_And what does that say about you? Huh? Remember that old man? The woman you tortured? What does that make you, if not someone who is doing the exact same thing WE are doing? Doesn't that make you one of us?"_

_But they loved doing it. And he did not. Even still the knowledge made Ron stop where he was, mulling over the words. Was he one of them? Even if he hated, he still participated, did he not? Did that make him a psychopath too?_

_His pause gave Cunningham the opportunity he needed. Quick as a flash, he jumped up and punched Ron, toppling both of them to the ground. Ron's wand flew out of his hands to the opposite end of the room, out of reach. Cunningham rolled around on the ground, wrestling with each other, until Cunningham ended up on top, his hands around Ron's neck, choking him._

"_Alex!" Mathew ran over and grabbed his arms, trying to pry them off. "Easy, man, easy! It doesn't have to go down this way, brother! Let's all just calm down, alright?"_

"_You think you can just come into my group and tell me who I am?" Cunningham spat into Ron's face, looking murderous. "You think you can make things right? Face facts, you can't! This is how the world works, kid! You can't change that! You just have to go along with it!"_

_Ron kicked him in the stomach, knocking him off. They got to their knees, grabbing each other by their necks, clawing, fighting, Mathew still trying to pry them off each other-_

"_SHIT! ALEX, MOVE!"_

_Ron turned his head to the fireplace, where the girl had gotten herself up and- to his horror- had grabbed his wand and had it aimed right at him._

"_INCENDIO!"_

_Ron barely managed to pull himself away from Cunningham and fell on his face as the giant flaming fireball flew over him, surrounding him. It was the most extreme heat he had ever felt; the hottest summer day could not even compare. He could hear shouts from the other men, and Cunningham yelled to Omar to get him to get the wand out of the girl's hand and knock her out. Ron did not even look up; he only waited for the heat to die._

_Omar slammed into the girl, knocking the wand out of her hand. Ron looked up to see the man wrestling her to the ground, pinning her hands behind her back. He quickly darted forward and grabbed his wand. Cunningham darted forward, his wand aimed right at her. Ron sat up, staring right at her, scared of her and at the same time scared for her, scared of the punishment that now surely awaited her._

_And that was when Mathew started screaming._

_They all turned to find their youngest member whirling around, arms raised in the air, fully aflame from head to toe, so much that all that was really visible of him was his outline. He was screaming frantically, tumbling around, banging into the walls. Flames just shot out of him as though he had been made of fire all along._

"_MATHEW!"_

_Ron got up to his feet and ran after his friend as the flaming man ran out the door. He turned down the hallway and aimed his wand at him to fire the spell that would drown the flames with water. His water kept following Mathew as he hectically kept stumbling from side to side, banging into the walls, falling down, getting back up, and repeating._

"_MATHEW, STAY STILL! I'LL TRY TO PUT YOU OUT, JUST CALM DOWN!" he screamed at him, but it was like trying to calm a rampaging hippogriff; he could not calm him down._

_Mathew's hysterical screaming grew steadily louder as he proceeded down the hall, towards the window. So intent was he on flapping out the flames that he failed to realize where he was going until it was far too late._

"_NO!!!"_

_The cry died in Ron's throat as Mathew broke through the glass and fell out into thin air, his screams following him down as he went. He fell hundreds of feet, tumbling head over feet, until he hit the water with a hard SPLASH and did not re-surface._

* * *

_Ron sipped his firewhisky and stared sullenly into the fireplace, where the roaring fire they had conjured up blazed just as Mathew had done hours ago._

_The others had gone off to bed to prepare for the long day ahead. None of them, except Cunningham, even glanced in his direction the whole night. He did not care; his mind was too lost in the days events to worry about how they were looking at him._

_Inside, all he could think about was that Mathew was dead. He had promised the boy hours ago that they would stick together, protect one another, and now he was dead._

_And worse, it appeared that he died for nothing. Not long after restraining her, Omar and the long-nosed man had found proof in the upstairs room of Death Eater involvement. Spy work; the kind that usually sneaks into your lines pretending to be a friend, but really is an enemy. She had no Dark Mark,but she had enough information to lead an attack right from inside their camp._

_Ron knew what Alex had done was wrong, there was nothing Brownside could say to let this slide, but the fact that she was a Death Eater spy just made Mathew's death even worse to accept. He had tried to protect both of them, and one ended up killing the other._

_He felt like a failure. Ever since he had arrived he was becoming more and more disillusioned with himself. All he had done was hurt and kill people in his time with the Interrogation team. Even when he tried to save someone, it ended with them dying. He was starting to feel like this was a game where the rules were deliberately made against him; that all he could do was kill, not save._

_He glared at the flames. They flickered as though they were mocking him, taunting him._

_What was worse, though, was that now Cunningham knew that Ron was not on their side, and that could only mean trouble for the red-head. What would he do? What COULD he do? Probably whatever he wanted; if Brownside could let him get away with everything he had been doing, one of theirs suddenly killed by a "prisoner attack" could slip by just as easily. Whatever happened, he knew Cunningham was on edge, against him, against all of them._

_In a sudden silent fit of rage, he threw the bottle into the fire and then stamped his foot repeatedly into the embers. Slamming again and again, smashing the wood and ripping apart the paper used to make it, he rendered the fire to ashes, not caring if his foot got burned in the process. Then he curled himself into a ball, tears running down his face._

_He was going to die here. And he was entirely willing to let that happen._

_As he sat there in silence, he became aware of a noise coming from the other room. Wiping his eyes, so that none of the others could see his weakness, he stood up to investigate, wondering if one of the guys was taking the girl outside to have another go._

_Instead he found Cunningham and Omar in the other room, Cunningham with his shirt off and his left arm extended, with Omar fastening something to his upper arm. Ron had never seen anything like it; it looked like a Muggle watch, but it was slightly bigger,and there were no numbers or hands; just a large circle-shaped green light._

_He watched them at work until Cunningham glanced up, having caught him staring out of the corner of his eye. Ron glared at both of them as Omar stepped forward and closed the door, locking it._

* * *

_Hermione knew this would be a big battle. Nothing, however, would prepare her for what she was to endure._

_Things started out quiet enough. Their army was advancing in one large force, the largest she had ever seen thus far. She, Jeff, and Kevin were towards the front, acting as the scouts. Jeff had his wand out; the other two were more relaxed, though still alert._

"_So my mum's birthday was last week," Kevin suddenly said to them. "My sister wrote me about it. She sent pictures."_

_He took a picture out of his pocket and handed it off to Hermione. She looked down at the family staring up at her, smiling, waving. Two small children were fighting over a stuffed bear, with a third child laughing at their feud._

"_That's my girl right there." Kevin pointed at a girl with a swollen stomach at the front of the crowd next to his mother. "Our baby's due in a month."_

_Hermione looked sadly at him. He was only nineteen- only a month or two older than her- and already going to be a father, and here he was in the most violent war of their generation. It was not fair._

"_We're getting married when this war's over," her friend continued, a grin now spreading upon his face. "Gonna be a big ceremony and everything. Then my dad's going to get me a job working at the Ministry and I can have a good job to get my kid through school."_

"_That's really great, Kevin," she responded. "I'm happy for you."_

"_Thanks." Kevin nudged his head at her. "What about you and your guy? Any plans after the war is over?"_

_She looked down at her feet. Ron...she remembered the last letter she had gotten from him, three weeks previous. It was one of the few letters she had received from him during the war, and with each one he sounded less and less like Ron. In his letters he never told her what he was doing or where he was, but where ever he was, whatever he was doing, it was having negative effects on him._

_As it was for all of them._

"_Not right now," she told him. "I think we're just trying to get through the war first."_

"_Probably smart. But if you want my opinion-"_

"_Ssh!"_

_Jeff held his hand up to silence them. All three of them froze, quiet, though there was no need to be listening for any noise._

_The Death Eaters were not even trying to be quiet._

_All they could hear was loud shouts of laughter and calls to each other. War cries and whoops howled through the air, and every once and a while someone would shoot sparks or a spell into the air. The sounds were in the hundreds, maybe even in the thousands, and seemingly growing all the while._

_And as the shouting got louder, Hermione realized it was not just them getting louder._

_It was also them getting CLOSER._

"_Shit..." Jeff glanced over his shoulder at them. "Hermione! Kevin! Get the fu-"_

"_Avada Kedavra!"_

_There was a flash of green light and suddenly Jeff flew back and landed on his back, his arms spread, his legs bent at an angle, his head arched back so that his face- a frozen, dead look of surprise flung upon it- was looking right at them._

_Hermione stepped back, horror flooding her body as she stared at his corpse._

"_NO!" Kevin screamed._

_And then the field erupted in explosions as the Death Eaters opened fire on them. Within minutes, screams of pain and shouts of chaos went up and down the line from wounded and terrified wizards and witches, all caught unaware, all fighting back as best they could._

_Kevin pulled his wand out but before he could fire off a curse, he was hit with one, two, three spells that tore his clothing and ripped apart his skin. He sank to his knees, blood bubbling from his mouth and from his cuts, weakly trying to lift his wand arm. Three more spells slammed full into his face and chest, knocking him onto his back. His arm slumped to his side, and his wand rolled away from him._

_With the last of his strength, he looked up at Hermione, his eyes glassy. She began to bend down to help him, but he feebly shook his head. With his dying breath, he only choked out one word:_

"_R-Run..."_

_His pupils dilated and his breathing labored and then silenced. Hermione stared at him through wide eyes, her breathing hard and uncontrollable. She stared at Kevin's torn-up body, and then looked over at Jeff's silent body, his face still frozen in shock, still looking right at her. Then she saw the four hooded masked men coming across the field, coming towards them, wands raised and ready to fire._

_And she turned and ran for her life._

* * *

_They heard the explosions from their position in the meadow, the one grass spot in a circle of trees.. It was in a close proximity, and Ron had his hand in his wand pocket in case the fighting met up with them._

"_Coupland, McCoy, guard the perimeter," Cunningham ordered. "Redfield, on flank."_

_McCoy, the short man, and Coupland, the pointed-nose man, went to a different edge of the woods to stay on guard. Redfield, the burly man, stayed a ways behind Cunningham and Omar as they shoved the girl onto her knees._

_For an interrogation team, they were decked out. All of them were wearing American vests that Cunningham said were from their army; what use they would be, Ron did not have a single idea, but it just made them all look like they were supposed to be. Like soldiers, not detectives. Like killers._

_Cunningham stalked around him, snapping him out of his thoughts. He glared at this man, decked out with a protective vest, for the first time actually seeming threatening._

"_You think there's a clear line between right and wrong," he told the red-head. "But it's like I told you before- there's no such thing as wrong. As long as we're protecting the system against scums like this," he kicked his foot in the direction of the girl, "it won't even matter. When this war is over, we'll be heroes."_

_Ron snorted. He doubted whatever Cunningham wanted to do had anything to do with saving the world. Nothing he had seen could convince him of that._

_But what he did notice- and this did not make anything better- was that Cunningham was getting more and more edgy with each passing minute. His hands were shaking slightly; beads of sweat were dripping down his head. And with everything that was going on outside the city, now was not the time for people to be losing their cool._

"_Word is, your friend Potter is fighting Voldemort right now in that city," said Cunningham. "I'm hearing it's pretty rough. Whatever problems you've got, looks like it's ending tonight."_

_At this Ron perked up. Harry? Here? Maybe he could get him out of this..._

_Cunningham crossed over to the girl, who was on her knees looking down at the ground with Omar's wand pointed to the back of her head. He looked around at all of them._

"_We all know how it works," he said to all of them. "You all knew what would be asked of us when we joined this army. This girl is a Death Eater, Dark Mark or no, and by all accounts, all Death Eaters deserve to die. This girl gave information to Voldemort and killed one of our own; now she's going to pay for it."_

_Ron just looked away. There was no way he could watch this._

_Omar stepped aside for Cunningham to come through, but no sooner had he than when there was a sudden flash and McCoy dropped to the ground, onto his back, his wand falling to the ground. Everyone crouched down; Coupland went to check his friend._

"_What was that? Did anyone see where that came from?"Cunningham asked, panic edging his voice. Ron eyed the trees nervously; it suddenly occurred to him that anyone could be watching him, with all the brush._

_Coupland arched his head toward the others, about to confirm the obvious, the guy's dead, and then there was another flash and Coupland was thrown forward, flipping in the air, his wand shooting red sparks up before another spell snapped it in two. Now they could hear movement through the trees, encircling them, surrounding them._

"_NOW! LIGHT 'EM UP!"_

_Cunningham, Omar, and Redfield started shooting spells through the tree lines, splitting themselves up, shooting as many spells as they could fire off. Spells, red and green, shot at them as well. The dark forest was illuminated like a Christmas display, only one of death instead of one of festivities._

_Ron fired back as two curses whizzed past his head, firing as many Stunning curses as he could muster up. He was not dying to Death Eaters; not like this. Suddenly, he was certain he could make it home, that his teammates were going to kill him, and he was going to make sure that happened. Anyone else that got hit, he would not cry over it. As long as he got out, that was all that mattered._

_Another green spell shot out and suddenly Redfield crumpled, clutching his neck before hitting the ground._

_Cunningham ducked behind a rock as two spells hit it. And then he saw something else flying, something solid. A small ball-shaped sphere, hooked to a long chain, glowing a reddish-white from the inside; a fire bomb, and it was hurdling towards him. His eyes widened, but he did not freeze up, and when it was within distance, he swung his leg and kicked it away from him. It flew back into the air, spun ten, twenty feet, and then hit the ground near the other side of the meadow._

_Right at Omar's feet._

_Ron shielded his face as the bomb exploded in a furious fireball, nearly setting fire to the entire meadow. The heat was as intense as it was before; almost volcanic. When it ended, he felt a slump right in front of him, and when he moved his hands, he found Omar's body, charred beyond recognition, the eyes wide in surprise, seeing something that was no longer there._

_And then he looked up and he saw that girl,still on the ground, covering her head as whizzes of green shot over, dangerously close. Instead of running the opposite way, he paused. He bit his lip, looking over his shoulder at escape, then back at her, and then sighed._

_Death Eater or not, she was still a little girl, and she could not stay here._

_With a sudden burst of agility, he ran towards her, ducking and jumping his way through the hazards until he reached her. He bent down and grabbed her arm; she looked up at him, frightened._

"_It's okay," he told her. "Come on!"_

_He yanked her to her feet as Cunningham called his name. With a lump forming in his throat, he looked up as the brown-haired man started running towards them. Suddenly, he stopped as one, two, three spells of red-color slammed into his back, one after the other, tearing his back up. Cunningham's eyes widened, looking right at Ron, as he slumped forward and hit the ground hard._

_That was all Ron needed. Once again finding an unknown adrenaline rush, he yanked the girl to her feet and, clutching her arm as tightly as he could, sprinted out of the meadow as fast as their legs would allow, the last of the spells hitting the ground behind them before silent darkness again overtook the clearing._

* * *

_Hermione has never been more frightened than right at that moment._

_The fight was the worse she had ever experienced, and she had no idea where it was all coming from. It seemed to come from everywhere; friends and enemies seemed to be all around her, some right behind her, some right next to her, and yet she could not find a familiar, friendly face anywhere._

_She knew she should be fighting. She knew she should be helping the wounded, maybe get them all back to a safe zone. But all she could do was run, and survive as best she could. She was terrified, and she had no idea where anything or anyone was, and without a clear sense of direction she could do nothing._

_She tripped over holes in the ground, rocks, and occasionally a body. She had not stopped running since the fight had begun, and every explosion and scream she heard just made her go even faster._

_But with the ground as rocky as it was, she also stumbled more and more, until finally she fell headfirst into a large crater made by one of the spells. When she hit the ground, however, she did not find dirt on the bottom._

_"OOF!"_

_Startled, Hermione threw herself backwards to find a woman laying on the spot she had fallen, badly wounded and bleeding from her left arm and leg. Her right arm, which had been clutching the wound, was now pointing a wand directly at her heart._

"_It's okay," said Hermione, holding up her hands, "I'm a friend."_

_The girl did not lower her wand, so she lifted her sleeves and showed her her wrists._

"_See? No Dark Mark," she assured her. "I'm on your side."_

_Seeing this, the girl slowly lowered her wand and sat up, wincing as she did. Hermione saw that she was as young as she was, the exact same age, with blonde hair and pretty green eyes. French, was her first guess._

"_Sorry," she said, in an accent that confirmed her suspicion. "It's hard to tell who is who around here. Death Eaters broke right through our lines, swamped us, made friend and foe one blurred line."_

"_So what did this to you?" Hermione nodded at her wounds._

"_Reductor Curse, probably to blast away some of the rubble. Unfortunately, I got in the way, and this was the result."_

"_Here, let me help," she crawled back over to her. "I'm with the medical team."_

"_Thanks a ton." the girl propped herself up. "This hurts like hell."_

_As Hermione pulled out her medical supplies and patched her up, she noticed how young this girl was. She had blonde hair, green eyes, and a face that was not even in its twenties. She had to be no older than seventeen, eighteen...just like her._

"_Are you just out of school too?" she asked._

"_Beauxbatons, graduated months ago," the girl replied._

"_Yeah, me too. From Hogwarts."_

"_I could tell, from your accent. Obviously a Limey."_

_Hermione managed a laugh. "Yeah, I suppose so."_

"_Well," the girl shrugged, "this is one Limey I'm glad to have on my side. And that I'm glad knows how to fix someone up."_

_Hermione smiled, and felt a burst of pride run through her. Finally it felt like she was doing something right._

"_I'm Lindsay, by the way," said the girl. "Lindsay Green."_

"_I'm Hermione," she answered. "Hermione Granger."_

_Lindsay's eyes widened._

"_Seriously?" she asked, awestruck. "Wow...that makes two in one day. Maybe I'll get lucky and see the third."_

_Now Hermione looked up again, not with a smile, but with wide-eyed surprise._

"_What?" she demanded. "What did you mean by that?"_

"_Right before all hell broke loose, I saw Potter go into the city. And right before I was wounded, I swore I saw him in the town center, and right across from him was ole' You-Know-Who himself. Looked like they were finally having their battle."_

_Hermione glanced over her shoulder back at the town, at the place where she now knew her best friend, the only hope for their world, was finally face-to-face with his worst enemy. Alone._

"_Harry..."_

* * *

_Ron and the girl made their way back up to the house on the cliff. From where they stood, they could actually SEE the battle raging outside-and inside- of the town. And from what he could see, it was the worst battle yet._

_He cursed under his breath. He had no idea what to do, and from the looks of things, there was no one who could really help him get oriented. When he had escaped from the clearing, his only thought was to get back to the house, but now that he was here, he was not sure if he should stay there or go and join the fight._

_He looked at the girl. She was also looking down at the town with a fearful expression. He wondered if that look was the same one on his face. He turned back to the house._

"_C'mon," he said, "let's grab some supplies, and then we can figure out where we go from there-"_

"_What's the rush?"_

_He heard the voice, but could not bring himself to believe it at first. How could he have escaped that? But he turned himself around and he knew he had deluded himself; that there was no way someone like him could go down that easily._

_There was Cunningham, limping towards them, one hand clasping the now torn vest he had been wearing, the other hand aiming his wand at the girl, who stood petrified. Cunningham grinned at him, then held up his vest._

"_This vest here, it's been known to take a hit from time to time," he told him, throwing it aside. "Now, let's just take it slow for a moment."_

"_Alex," Ron called, keeping himself weary, "the battle's getting bad. They're probably needing our help-"_

"_Relax, we'll get to them." Cunningham went right up to the girl, his wand poking her cheek. "But first we've got to deal with this bitch."_

"_Alex, come on-"_

"_We just lost our whole team, Ron. Four guys, dead. And how do you think they knew we were there?"_

"_Oh come on, you can't seriously think she sent them a message. She's been under our surveillance since yesterday, how could she have told them where we were going to be?"_

"_Doesn't matter. I said we were going to kill her, and that's exactly what we're going to do."_

_In that moment, Ron had to make a choice. He could either stand up to Cunningham, or side with him once again. After months or torturing people, killing people, ruining numerous lives, it had finally bubbled down to this moment on the cliff. He had gone along with this, put up with the traumatizing experience as long as he could. No longer._

_Before he could question himself, before he could even give his arms the command, his wand was up and raised at Cunningham, his face scrunched into a frown, pointing right at his heart._

_Cunningham raised an eyebrow. "What the hell are you doing?"_

"_I'm not letting you do this," he said, raising his wand to the other. "I __**won't**__ let you do this."_

"_Are you serious?" he asked, with a hint of annoyance and amuse in his voice. "You mean to tell me that after everything we've been through, you've picked NOW of all times to grow a fucking conscience?"_

"_You've gone too far this time, mate. This is wrong, and you know it!"_

"_What IS wrong? Hell, what's __**right**__?" he ruffled up his hair with a carefree grin. "C'mon, Weasley. You used to be all about this kind of shit. You used to believe in it."_

"_Yeah, I also used to believe in Santa Claus. But at least HE never did the stuff I've seen you do!"_

"_Oh, so that makes me the bad guy?"_

"_YEAH, IT __**DOES,**_ _ALEX!" Tears were freely streaming down the red-head's face. "We've ruined lives! Innocent lives! And we've taken lives away, too! And I'm not about to let you take another one!"_

_He raised his wand so that it was aimed right at his face. But before he could even say a word, his partner took out his own wand and aimed it at the girl's head. His carefree smile was gone now; in its place was a hideous snarl. Ron flinched._

"_So this is how it's gonna be, huh, Ronnie-boy?" the torturer demanded evilly, jabbing the teenager with his wand. "You're gonna pull your wand at your own partner instead of this little slut, who's been passing God only knows how much info to those bastards, and accuse HIM- not HER- of being the villain of this story? How is THAT justified??"_

"_Let her go, Alex," Ron demanded, not moving an inch. "You don't have to do this."_

"_You're right: __**I**_ _don't," Cunningham twirled his wand along his fingers, and then pointed it dead at Ron. "You, however, do. That is, if you have any loyalty to this system at all, you'll put this fucking whore out of her misery."_

"_Stop it, Alex. I'm not killing anyone else."_

"_Oh, wake up and smell the fucking DECAF, Weasley! Look at everything you've accomplished! All the people you've tortured, all the places that were laid to waste because of what YOU'VE done. Face it, kid-" His evil look gained a smile that reminded Ron of a picture of a devil he had once seen. "You're a killer. That's all you'll ever be good for. What makes you think you can wipe all that away with just ACTING like a hero?"_

"_Maybe I can't," said the red-head, his hands shaking, and his voice quivering. "But that's the difference between you and me. I'm gonna at least __**try**__. While you're just gonna keep on doing what you're doing, thinking it's the right thing, until someday they're gonna give you your own cell in Azkaban for it! That is YOUR future, Alex. __**Not**_ _mine!"_

_He could see that he was enraging this man. But he didn't care. He hated him all the more for that. Hated him for turning him into who he had become. Hated him for all the terrible things he had done, and made he himself do, these last several months. But it ended here. He couldn't be forced to do it anymore. Cunningham sneered._

"_You ain't gonna kill her?" he demanded, his voice low and rising. "Fine. Then I WILL!"_

_He once again aimed his wand at the girl's head. She whimpered, scared for her life. What happened next went by so fast; no one was fully able to realize it until it was too late to do things over._

"_AVADA KEDA-"_

"_SECTUMSEMPRA!!!"_

_The words were out of his mouth before he had even thought them in his mind. In that instant, Cunningham was blown backwards, cuts swiping across his body, arms and face, blood gushing out almost in gallons all over the green grass. His wand, snapped in two, flew out of his hands, the bottom half slowly rolling to the edge of the cliff, pausing, and then making the jump, while the top half stuck into the ground tip-down. His body, broken and torn, lay face-up, choking from the cuts that had shredded his neck and almost tore it in half. Blood still flowed freely out. He was choking, his arms outstretched and useless, defeated._

_Ron walked to and stood over the body of his once-teammate, looking at him with nothing but disgust._

"_So this is how the great Alex Cunningham dies," he snarled. "Slow and painful. Seems fitting."_

_Despite his wounds, Cunningham managed a laugh, half of which seemed to come out his torn neck._

"_You...fucking...idiot..." he gasped out, every word shooting blood out his neck. "Do you...realize what you've done..." He grinned. "You just...killed everyone in that town."_

_Ron's face dropped, the pit of dread again growing in his belly. He knelt down at the man's side, peering into his face._

"_What are you talking about?" he demanded._

_Cunningham chuckled weakly again, and then, with some strained effort for him, rolled his left arm so that he could see the underside. Tied to it still was the device Ron had seen the night before...except now, the green light was blinking._

"_This thing here...it's a cool little idea I have. I took out a little... insurance policy." He wheezed at his own joke, then looked at Ron with that despicable grin._

"_It's a Muggle heart-rate monitor...and it's connected...to a little ingenious machine some of our scientists...have developed. My heart stops...and it's going to send several million volts of the Killing Curse...to that little town where all those people are...Gonna kill a LOT...of innocent people..."_

_Ron's eyes widened and he looked up at the town, where the battle was still raging. Did he just condemn everyone there? No..._

_Cunningham laughed and he looked back down at him. The psychopath gazed right at him, drawing his final breaths._

"_You can't escape...what you've done. Wherever you go...whatever you do...if you make it out of this war alive...I'll be there. When you eat...when you sleep... I'll be there...and I'll be haunting you, to the day you finally die...you'll never escape...what you've done..."_

_And as he choked out his final breath, his eyes widened and his pupils grew, staring up right at him, peering at him as if peering into the soul he had destroyed. His mouth remained open, still twisted into a small form of that hideous grin._

_On his arm, the device's light turned red._

* * *

_Hermione never would have expected what came next._

_From the sky it came down, almost like God's wrath striking the town down. The light was green and thick, and as it fell down, she knew exactly what it was, although she knew as well that it could not be possible. No one could come up with a Killing Curse that powerful, not even Voldemort._

_When it hit the town, the light from the blast was so great that she was thrown backwards, blinded. The force that washed over them was the most extreme she had ever felt in her life, and yet for some reason, it was not killing her. It was just the force of the impact washing over her, not the curse itself._

_The earth rumbled to the point where she was afraid it would rip open and devour her, and sure enough large cracks formed into the ground, yet the earth held firm. There were screams and shouts from the field, all of them terrified, and before long she realized that her own voice was adding to the chorus._

_When it ended- and oh, how its end seemed to go on forever!- she could barely find the strength to pick herself up off the ground. She was panting, gasping for air, but the air was heavy and hard to digest; it felt like inhaling rock instead._

"_Oh my God..."_

_Lindsay had managed to prop herself up at the edge of the pit, looking towards Dublith. She stared back at her newfound friend, wide-eyed._

"_The town's gone," was all she could choke out._

"_What?!" Hermione forced herself to the edge. She had to see for herself._

_She looked over, expecting to see the town, and instead found herself peering into a gigantic crater, blackened and crispy. It seemed to go down for miles, possibly even to the center of the earth (Probably to hell, she thought bitterly). Some rubble thrown apart from the explosions and the town banner was all that remained. Everything else was just...gone, as if it had never existed and the crater had always been._

_She feebly got to her feet, shaking uncontrollably as she tried to go to the crater. Harry...she had to see if he were still there. But before she even took two steps, she sank back down to her knees. Of course not...of course he was not there. A Killing Curse with enough power to destroy the moon if it could...how could ANYONE have survived that?_

_From across the field, shouts and red sparks were being thrown into the air. She glanced meekly over her shoulder and saw five of their wizards, calling out for any survivors. And it was then she realized how quiet it had become; the Death Eaters had fled in terror._

"_Over here!" Lindsay called to them. "We're over here!" She looked over at Hermione, grinning. "It's over...we won."_

_Yes, thought Hermione, glancing back again at the crater. Yes they had won...but at a terrible cost._

* * *

_With one final kick, Ron sent Cunningham's body over the edge of the cliff. He did not look away until he was sure it had hit either the water or the rocks below. Either way, the wretched being would be gone._

_He looked back at the girl with a cold hard glare. She shrank away from him, fearing that he would now turn upon her. He looked down instead._

"_Go," he said to her. "Get out of here. Go home."_

_She did not think twice. She immediately turned and sprinted through the trees, never to be seen again._

_Ron looked over at Dublith- or rather, the crater where Dublith had been before. So much firepower...and yet he was not surprised. He doubted he would ever be surprised again._

_He would never be a lot of things again. One of them being innocent. For the rest of his life and beyond, he would live with the knowledge that he was a murderer, just as bad as Cunningham. And though one could argue that he had done less than Cunningham, that did not change that he had done things. The minute he tortured that woman in that small room, he had become one of them._

_And now an entire town had to pay for it._

_Feeling dizzy, his legs wobbly at first, he made his way back down the hill to the battlefield._

* * *

_Hermione almost did not recognize him at first when he arrived at the hospital. So many dead and wounded people had been brought in, some with minor cuts, some with limbs torn off. She remained near Lindsay, who lay on a bed resting, as she wrapped bandages, administered potion, and did her best to aid those who were about to pass over, some dying with smiles on their faces at knowing that the war was finally, at long last, over._

_So it was by chance that she looked up and saw him staring at her, covered in soot and blood, his red hair messy and unorganized. But the worst part, for her as she realized who it was, were his eyes. No longer was there boyish playfulness; now there was the look of a man who had aged thirty years in just a few months. She wondered if she had the same look. Probably; would they not all, after the things they had seen?_

_But that did not matter now. What mattered was that he was here, and they were alive, and so when he finally approached her she wrapped her arms around his neck in a tight hug. He returned it as best he could, though the feeling was still absent from his emotions._

"_Harry?" was all he could muster up when they broke apart._

_She shook her head, tears starting to fall down her face as she pressed her face against his chest. Ron closed his eyes tight and was ashamed to find there was not much more reaction than that; it just seemed like one final punch to the chest out of the entire boxing match that was the war._

_But he hugged her and as he did a small surge of warmth flooded through him. Not a lot, but enough to give him the strength to face it. He could not be healed, but he could at least try to lead a normal life again, even if it was an empty dream now. Life could not be normal, for any of them._

_And as much as they wanted to pretend, the atrocities of war had greater consequences than anyone could ever have imagined._

* * *

Holy hell-ass-balls, was this the longest thing I've ever written in my life or what?

So this one took about two or three weeks longer than last time did, but as you can no doubt obviously see, it was worth every day of it. This chapter was the longest thing I've ever done for a fanfiction project, and by God am I really really pleased with how it turned out.

I don't even have to say "I hope you enjoy it", because I KNOW you enjoyed it. Maybe not for its length, but for its content. I don't like to toot my own horn so much, but...God DAMN, was this fun to write.

So I'm going to work on the final of this 3-part Blast-From-the-Past, don't know when I'll get it out, but I DOUBT it's going to be too long. Hopefully.

Well, until then, review, and see you all next time!


	19. Exodus

And we are now nineteen chapters in, the last of the three part flashback series.

wow60- Go for it! Chug! Chug! Chug! Haha, but I hope you're caught up and it still holds interest.

ObsessedRHShipper- My lord, three reviews from you. I love how you keep guessing, which is good, I approve of guessing. A lot of older stuff I wish I could re-work, but for the overall story, I think they worked fine. And Brownside's motives will be glanced over later.

Salemsoriginal99- That scene was difficult to write. But I figured if I was going to do it, then I'd do it right; that is, make people see how horrible the subject really is. Language...well, that's...me, I guess. It's how I've come to operate, although I like to think I try my best to tone it down on occasion. On that occasion, I think it was needed...but then again, I'm a weirdo. But otherwise, thanks again for the review!

Cribellate- That chapter came out to over 30 pages and almost 20,000 words. I put every single God-forsaken thing I could conjure up in there because I wanted to show exactly what made these people become who they are in the present day. The fact that it's amazing and sad means I did my job right.

kareem23- Thank you for agreeing with me. :)

This chapter's not going to be too long. It's going to just show individual scenes that tie up any loose ends and answer the questions you all want to know that the last two chapters didn't answer. I especially love the ending, because it sets the remainder of the story (which, in retrospect, really isn't that much left) in motion.

Enjoy!

* * *

Chapter Nineteen: Exodus

_The face that stared back in the mirror was a stranger._

_That's how Ron felt, every night, when he looked in the bathroom mirror and his (was it really his?) image stared back at him. How he felt since he had returned from that hellhole. He had been back home for three weeks, and his appearance was still taking some getting used to._

_His eyes were what bothered him the most. They looked almost like bottomless pits, only because of how empty they seemed. Where had the life gone? Months ago they had been filled with warmth; now they were so cold._

_Even his dreams offered no refuge. Lying with his eyes slammed shut all he could see was Mathew tumbling off a cliff like a flaming statue, the girl laying on the ground battered and bruised and bleeding from her uterus, Cunningham beating and cursing and killing the people tied to the chairs..._

_He felt arms wrap around his waist and inwardly cursed. He had hoped not to wake her, just for this one night. He had gone unsuccessful once again._

"_Nightmare?" she asked._

_He nodded, too worn to answer truthfully. This was an ongoing routine with them._

"_Want to talk about it?"_

_He shook his head. "It's nothing you need to worry about."_

_She bit her lip. That was always the response from him, nothing to worry about, even though it was so obvious that there was something to worry about._

"_Alright, well, I'm going back to bed. First shift at the hospital starts tomorrow, I'll need my rest," she reminded him._

"_Okay, I'll be right there."_

_She lingered for a moment longer as he continued to look into the mirror, staring at his own reflection, before she finally went back to bed and curled up in the covers._

_Life had been stressful for the two of them since they had gotten back. Ron had immediately been accepted into the Auror program, while she took the few remaining medical courses she needed to begin her residency as a Healer at St. Mungos. Internship started tomorrow, but strangely that was the least of her worries._

_Her main worry continued to be Ron. Whatever he had seen, it had hit him hard, and she did not know if he was going to be okay. He never drank, thank God, but the thing was, he really did not do anything most nights. And the nights they DID do something, preferably something that involved a bed minus the clothing, it was lovely, but it was lacking somewhat._

_She hoped that it would get better with time. That was what they said, right? Time heals all wounds? But how much time did one need to recover from the shock of losing friends? She herself was barely over what had happened to Harry, not to mention Kevin and Jeff. Throwing herself immediately into work may help move things along easier. Maybe it would for him too._

_Hopefully._

_It was a while before she fell back into sleep. He came in to join her twenty minutes later._

* * *

_You would think that he would be happy, doing desk work. After everything he had been through, being an Auror who worked the cases from behind a desk instead of in a dark room with one light fixture and a crowbar in one hand should be a welcoming relief._

_But with every case he looks over, the worse the images in his head get. He would examine a case of a man who had been attacked walking home from the ice cream parlor, and it would bring back memories of his team beating the hell out of some poor soul in the closet. And any rape cases he had, he would give to someone else. He never wanted to deal with another one of those._

_He is beginning to wonder if this is really the career he should go for. But then he remembers his alternative- working for his brothers' joke shop- and he knows that it's either this or nothing._

* * *

_Her first shift was certainly a busy one._

_It was to be expected, she told herself. It was almost like an unwritten rule, that an interns first day on rotation had to be a hectic one. Either multiple patients or, God forbid, a trauma would take place to test the capabilities of the new people, especially one so highly recognized in society such as herself._

_But she does well for her first day. She helps diagnose several patients afflicted with spattergroit and even helps save someone with dragon pox, although he does die a few hours later. She manages to keep up with the chart work and even some of the older doctors look at her with impressed looks on their faces._

_Compared to the war, though, it is all easy work. Spattergroit could be healed. Dragon pox, as fatal as it was, it was at least possible to give the patient a peaceful death. Dark magic and third-degree burns covering head to toe were areas of expertise she forever considered herself retired from and hoped fervently that it would stay that way._

_Her attending tells her that she could someday run the department if she kept it up. She places that one on her to-do list._

* * *

_They get a letter from Mrs. Weasley. She tells them about the new expansions to the Burrow, how the joke shop is doing, how Ginny still has not written them from France, and when they were going to come visit them._

_Hermione writes back for the both of them, apologizing for how busy they were, but it did not look like they would be able to get to see them any time soon. She sends it off and then went back to bed, exhausted._

* * *

_He's starting to take some sleeping pills. It is prescribed to him by a psych-wizard over at St. Mungos, and hopefully he would never have to tell Hermione._

_He tells himself it is just to get him through the nights. Just so he would not keep waking up at nights, shaking in cold fear and going to the bathroom, thereby waking up Hermione. The cycle had gone on long enough._

_For the first three nights, for the first time since he returned home, he sleeps like a baby. Eventually, however, they begin to wear off, and the cycle continues to repeat itself._

* * *

_There was an accident down on Diagon Alley; a potion exploded, injuring a dozen people, five of which were critical and out of the five three did not make it._

_Hermione does her best on them, but when they come in she is instantly reminded of the war, with the burned victims being carried in on stretchers. These patients' burns were bubbling up and stained black, but there is green liquid as well, presumably from the potion, and whatever it had been was singing the most absurd lyrics ever. But they were also melting through the skin, which meant making decisions with little time._

_It takes several potions and spells to remove the slime, and then when that is done with, they place the victims in tubs to help pick off still-burning phosphorus. It is gruesome work, and three did not made it past the goop, it had burned right into their internal organs._

_When she get home, she threw up her lunch three separate times and then sleeps through Ron's return home at night and leave for work in the morning._

* * *

_There's an opening for an Auror's slot in the American state New York. The head of the department said he recommended Ron's name, but said it was a voluntary basis and that he could refuse if he wanted to._

_He says he will talk about it with Hermione. It was at least something to consider._

"_America?!"_

"_I told him that I'd think about it. I just thought that a change of scenery would be nice, you know?"_

"_But America? We're not talking about just a change of scenery here, we're talking a bout a whole new country! Away from our families, our friends-"_

"_What 'friends'? Harry's gone, Ginny's gone, everyone else either left the country or they've just lost contact with us-"_

"_You know what I mean, Ron! We'd be leaving everything we've known, and for who knows how long!"_

"_What is there here anymore? Our jobs? We can find better jobs there, Hermione, we can get good recommendations! There's really not much here anymore other than that!"_

"_There is EVERYTHING here! Our childhoods, our memories, our whole lives are HERE, Ron!"_

"_Yeah, and also the memory of everything that's happened over the last few years! Not to mention the WAR! Maybe it was fine and dandy for you, but I wouldn't mind getting away from the thoughts for a while, you know?"_

"_No, I don't! Maybe if you actually TALKED about it with me once in a while-"_

"_Oh, let's not start this shit again Hermione-"_

"_No, Ronald, I will! I have put up with the silence for WEEKS now, I have given you your space, but if this is seriously bothering you, then I think you should talk to me about it!"_

"_You think I do that? Huh? You know me better than anyone, do you really think I'm going to spill every damn bloody STUPID thing that happens to me? DO YOU?!"_

_He smacked a glass off the table and the shattering against the wall seemed to echo as they silenced their argument. They stood there, glaring at each other for a few moments. Hermione rubbed her temple._

"_Look, Ron," she groaned, "I'm really not feeling well tonight. Can we talk about this tomorrow?"_

_He nodded, not saying anything. He knew if he opened his mouth it would just bring him more trouble._

_She turned and retreated upstairs, hand clutching both her head and her stomach, not turning back to see what he would do. All he did was sit in the chair for two hours with his head in his hands, and did not go up to bed until she was fast asleep._

* * *

_They make up in the morning, over breakfast. He picks some flowers out of the garden- she prefers those to ones that could be conjured up by magic- and placed them in a vase on the table. He also made her toast with jam and sausages, knowing she had a busy day and would like a good breakfast._

_There are no words exchanged when she comes downstairs. They eat their breakfast and occasionally smile at one another. When she leaves, she gives him a quick peck on the cheek and she's out the door._

_And that was it. That was all it ever was. They had long accepted that that was how they lived with each other, that some things were better left unsaid. It was the story of their lives, and they had learned to live with it._

* * *

_They received a new med student, a young man named David. He is assigned to Hermione, and she does her best to show him the ropes. He looks like the star pupil, blonde hair, and blue eyes that are slightly watery and a boyish face that looked like it came from a very rich family. Yet he is a hard worker, he knows his stuff, and he gets along with everyone, so immediately he fits right in._

_Hermione has a feeling that they are going to have a very good working relationship._

* * *

_Ron pays a visit to the twins. Their joke shop is doing phenomenally well, and so he decides he wants to see his brothers for themselves._

_Fred is married to Angelina now; she is expecting a child any day. George is still single, though is renown for his trips into the village to meet pretty single ladies. They have five other employees working there, and all of them look like they are having a great time._

_Fred asks him when he and Hermione are going to tie the knot. To be honest, he has been thinking about it; he even has a ring picked out and put on hold, for the day he finally gets over the nagging memories of the war and moves on with his life._

_However, he is beginning to wonder if that day is ever going to come._

* * *

_They have another row, just as asinine as the previous one. She is continually worried that he is not recovering properly, while he lies and tells her that he is. Again, like before, she cuts the argument short, as she is still not feeling well and would prefer a hot bowl of soup to quell her upset stomach._

_And again he sits in the chair, hours after she has fallen asleep, wondering how he is going to get over this, if he ever is. The psych-wizard he has been seeing has not been helping, not in the slightest, and now more than ever it feels like going to America is the only way he can move on._

_But Hermione was not budging on the move. And why should she? She had a stable job, a supporting family, and more importantly, this was where she had always lived, where she had always belonged. To take her away from that would not be fair to her._

_He keeps telling himself that things will get better. But the more he tells himself that, the less and less he begins to believe it, and the more he believes that sooner or later, it was just going to become too much._

_And he is afraid it will be "sooner"._

* * *

_Hermione gets a surprise from Lindsay today, coming in with a friend who is complaining of stomach problems. She says she has recently bought an apartment in Diagon Alley and tells Hermione that she should come and visit sometime._

_It turns out that her friend has become pregnant; which would explain her recent mood swings and stomach problems. The woman is overjoyed, as she is sure her husband would be, and she and Lindsay hug each other in joy, and Hermione smiles at the joyous news while all the while her illness is beginning to creep back up into her own bowels._

* * *

_His nightmares had been bad enough. But now he was really reliving them._

_Ron stands in wide-eyed terror as two Auror's wrestle with the man, who was all the while spitting and cussing and screaming. Another Auror is examining the body of the woman, who is naked and savagely raped and scarred. Her eyes are wide and unseeing, her mouth locked forever in a scream of agony._

_He runs outside and throws up over the balcony, then sits down and curls himself into a ball. With his eyes open or his eyes shut, he could not get the image out of his mind, burned in there with the same degree of heat that had killed Mathew. The agony that he had been feeling since his return was now maximized, and he was not sure he could handle it._

_He throws up once more and then leaves when his boss tells him to go home._

* * *

_He is done._

_He cannot take it anymore._

_He is finished with it._

_Another fight with Hermione and now he is more convinced than ever that it was time to leave. Staying here is only continually making things worse, he is sure of it. The medication has stopped working long ago, the visits to psychiatry long before that._

_And this time, when he thinks about how it would affect Hermione, the consequences do not feel as wrong. He is not worried about how she would take leaving. He is not worried about how she would take having to start over, make new friends, start a new job. He is not worried about any of that, because he has made up his mind._

_He, Ron, is leaving for America._

_And Hermione would not be going with him._

_He knows it must be like this. He cannot recover from his past if he continues to live like this. The more time goes by, the worse it gets, and now he officially cannot take it anymore._

_As much as he knows he loves Hermione, he knows this is not good for her either. The fact of the matter is, he is not the same insecure boy that she fell in love with. He has changed, and changed for the worse. He cannot be the husband- or God forbid, the father- that she wanted him to be. Not here. Not like this._

_He needed to get better. For her sake, as well as his own._

* * *

_And so that was what he did. The next morning, while Hermione slept away the last hours of sleep, Ronald Weasley packed up all of his belongings and left. He looks down at the note he had just written, the one that had broken his heart to write as he was sure it would break hers to read:_

"_Hermione,_

"_I'm leaving for the Auror's position in America. I cannot continue to pretend that everything is okay with me, and I need to find out how to fix myself. I leave in the hopes that when we do meet again, I'll be everything you ever wanted me to be._

"_All my love, _

"_Ron."_

_He places the letter on the table as he sniffs and wipes a tear from his eye._

"_Good-bye, my love," he whispers._

_And with a silent "pop!", he is gone._

* * *

Ron took a sip from his tea as he finally finished telling his story. The silence that fell upon the room was a heavy one, but it was one he had fully expected from telling such a long story as that. Skip stroked his stubble, a sullen look upon his face. Rodyle just looked awestruck.

"My God..." gasped Loiselle.

"Known you a while now, Ron-o," Skip said quietly, staring hard at his friend. "Even I never knew some of that."

Ron shrugged.

"It did get better when I got here," he told them. "Change of scenery, growing used to American customs...eventually, I began to lock those memories into a closet in the back of mind. Some mornings, when I woke up, I actually forgot about all that happened and I'd jump out of bed and begin my day as if I was still going to school."

"But you never got over her." Skip's words were more statement than question. Ron shook his head.

"But wait," Rodyle finally said, "what about that machine Cunningham activated? Sounds kind of similar to what's happening now."

"Yeah, I was wondering that myself," agreed Ron. "I sent a few letters after the war inquiring about it, but I never got a reply back. Whatever it was, it had to be top-secret. But I never learned what it was."

"It's a fuckin' death machine."

So engrossed they had been in Ron's story that they had not even noticed McAllen's return to the room. Ron had never seen him look like he did. His eyes were sunken in and grave, his face paler than it normally was, and his fists were clenched tightly together. He came over and placed the picture of the machine onto the table.

"It's a KG-37 'Supersonic,'" he told them in a low voice. "An old model, got retired twenty years ago. It's a Spell Distributor; place a spell in, it comes out in massive quantities any place in the world, from Trenton, New Jersey to London, England to Bumfuck, Wherever-the-Hell. It was originally used to help support Third World countries, y'know, get them light, water, help repair some structures, all that shit. But then some fucknugget got one and used it to wipe five African towns into oblivion. Ministry placed an official band on them, but they're still around, and every once and a while, they end up in the wrong hands."

"That's what Cunningham used to wipe out Dublith..." Ron looked up from the photograph. "McAllen, what exactly are we dealing with here?"

"Are you _listenin'_ to me? This thing can wipe entire towns off the fuckin' map! This thing makes fuckin' Atlantis look like someone left the goddamn water runnin'! This thing makes fuckin' Pompeii look like a goddamn firecracker! Ron, whoever this crazy fucker is, he's not just talkin' about gettin' revenge on you, alright? If he wanted to, he could blow up half the fuckin' planet in one shot!"

"Jesus _Christ_." Loiselle jumped to his feet.

"He can kill everyone without even leaving home..." Skip's face turned pale. "They'd never even see it coming..."

"How do you stop something like that?" Rodyle wanted to know. "Nothing can stop _Avada Kedavra_, and I'm pretty sure _Deviggio_ is devised the same way. There's no escaping it, it'd be a massacre."

Ron stared at the picture, all the while his fists tightening. He was taking this too far. He had a hostage, and he was threatening to kill everyone...and for what? So he could settle this score? Well, fine by him. If he could survive Alex Cunningham, Ron thought, he was sure he could survive him.

"So what do we do?" Rodyle wanted to know.

"It's simple, isn't it?" said Ron, looking at all of them. "Either we take him down tonight, or we're not going to recognize the world tomorrow."

"How? We don't even know where he or this thing is!" exclaimed Loiselle.

The red-headed leader of the team just looked back at the picture. There had to be a clue. Some sign of where this thing was. But the only thing they could see from the photograph was the large size of the room, the giant windows behind it, not showing any sunlight as it was taken on a cloudy day, and the corners and edges of what he believed was a giant blanket of some sort on the wall directly behind-

_Wait a minute._

He pressed his face close to the picture. Something had just moved; very faintly, he could barely have seen it if he had not been looking at the spot it had passed over. But there was something moving around in that picture, remaining in the background, yet staying there almost as if trying to get his attention.

"Turn off the lights," he ordered.

McAllen raised an eyebrow. "What?"

"Just do it. You heard me."

The technical wizard just shrugged, got up, and turned off the lights. Ron pulled out his wand and tapped it onto the picture.

"_Lumos Floresca,_" he muttered.

The tip of his wand lit up a neon green, and as it did, he could easily see here what he could not see with the lights on.

His heart plummeted into his chest. It was as he had suspected.

In the background, waving as though knowing he had been examining the picture all along, was a ghost wearing ruffled clothing, his head occasionally flopping off his shoulders, held to his neck only by a single piece of thread.

_Nick_...

"Son of a bitch..." he cursed under his breath. He looked back at his four teammates, all who were looking at him questioningly in the glow of the light.

"Hogwarts," he told them. "He's taken Hermione to Hogwarts."

* * *

_When she emerged from the bathroom and came downstairs, Hermione noticed the letter on the table, exactly where Ron had left it. Curiously, she picked it up and gave it a quick glance, paused, and then read the entire thing in its entirety._

_In that moment, all she felt was coldness. A numbing feeling that paralyzed all her emotions, with the single exception of devastated. She shook her head, refusing to believe what it was saying even though the evidence of its truth was staring her right in the face._

"_No..." she whispered. "Not now..."_

_But as she looked and called around the house, and looked in his cupboards only to find empty wood, she came to the conclusion that was written out for her._

_Ron had really left her._

_She sank to her knees as her tears overtook her, leaving the empty feeling of despair inside of her._

_The white stick fell from her hands to the floor, the pink plus sign flashing up at her as if mocking her more._

* * *

I imagine as I put this up that about a hundred people are gonna go "OMGWTFBBQ" when they get to the end.

Ah, I love my job.

So, after well over a year and a half longer than I had anticipated this arc to go, the three-chapter backstory arc has finally come to a close.

Thank the Lord.

And now, we finally come into the home stretch. Still a little while longer to the big reveal, but it should be worth the wait.

Until then, review, favorite, subscribe to either this or quite possibly the Youtube channel (if one so felt like it), and I will see you guys next time.

Peace out.


	20. The Hogwarts Express

Twenty chapters in and now we run into the home stretch! This is where things get exciting!

Kristen- Thank you! Here I go, kind of a filler chapter but I figure one of these is better than waiting another three months for the next one.

wow90- haha, well, that's how I like to roll.

ObsessedRHShipper- I'll get into what happened to the baby later. And him telling them what happened was basically so you as readers could finally find out. Telling your teammates after time has passed is one thing; telling your loved one is something else.

FunkyDory- Thank you! That was a helpful review! This chapter's by no means as grand as the last three have been, but I felt it was something to pass the time for the next big chapter. Plus, it has some action, which should serve well.

Enjoy!

* * *

Chapter Twenty: The Hogwarts Express

Lindsay opened her apartment door and threw her bag onto the couch with a sigh. Behind her, Huntington closed the door and locked it, peering through the peephole. He had been keeping alert the entire time to her apartment, even though it was a simple Apparation outside of the safety zone. His wand was in his hands, his eyes everywhere but her (something she was not used to), and he seemed tense.

"Alright," he said, trying to keep his voice calm. "Doesn't look like we were followed."

His headset beeped. He pressed the call button and brought the mic to his mouth.

"Huntington, what's up?" he asked. "Uh huh...okay, roger. Just let me know when they need me...Right, out."

He turned it off and looked back at Lindsay.

"They want me to stay here and keep an eye on you," he told her. "I don't suppose you have any Muggle films to watch? Help pass the time?"

Lindsay smiled and removed her cloak. And in that instant, Huntington could really admire her looks. Her chest had the proper bounce, her curves were filled nicely, and her smile was seductive as hell. She waltzed over to him and, like before, traced her finger on his chest.

"Well," she said, her sultry voice sending a tingle down his spine. "I have a little way to pass the time, but, um..." she leaned in and whispered into his ear, her lips close enough to be kissing it. "I'm not sure if you'd be..._up_, to it."

The moment she said "up to it", something of his definitely rose to the occasion. Cameron Huntington was a simple man, one dedicated to his job, dedicated to his teammates, dedicated to the case and dedicated to keeping everyone-including this young woman- safe from harm. But the sad truth of it was- and it was something he had refused to discuss with his co-workers- is that it had been a very, _very_ long time since he had gotten laid.

"Um...I-I think I'm up to it," he said with a grin.

She backed away, facing him all the way to the bedroom door before turning and going in, flicking the lights off behind her. Huntington eagerly followed her in, closing the door behind them, just in case.

-----

Flint had not ridden the Hogwarts Express in almost a decade, and it itself had not moved in two and a half years, but now it was going to take them back to the base.

Initially, he had been weary of them using Hogwarts as a staging ground for this plan. The greatest wizarding school of all time, someone would bound to notice some activity going on. But the boss had pointed out that the place was abandoned, that all the incantations that had made the grounds a safe haven had been removed, and that the only thing they had to worry about was falling debris from how shitty the roof had become over the last few years.

And so here he was, taking his team back the way they had come. Once this was done, they would have to destroy the tracks, so that no one else could come. With that out of the way, no one would be coming to knock on their door.

"We all set?" he asked.

Pickett came up to him. Despite the potion that had quickly repaired his broken nose, his left eye was still black, and there was still a bandage on his nose. He looked like someone who had been clocked in the face with a shovel.

"All clear. We're good to go," he reported, his voice sounding slightly congested.

"Good," Flint replied, trying to hold back a snicker that did not go unnoticed.

"What?"

"Nothing."

"_What_?"

"Well...not to put you down, but you look like an idiot with the bandage on."

"Oh, go screw yourself, alright?" The southerner snapped, going back into the cart and slamming the door shut.

Flint let out a chuckle and looked around. All the supplies were loaded up, and all the men were on board. They had been in town without any dilemmas, and now they could head on home and get the final part of the plan underway.

"Alright," he ordered. "Start her up. Let's get out of here."

Now, had Flint been paying attention to the platform as the train began to pull out, he might have noticed the five figures that had apparated just as he gave the order. And, had he even glanced for a split second, he might have been able to see them hop onto the train- three at the front of the train at the second cart and two on the rear cart- and catch a ride with them. As it happened, he did not, and his only concern was with what food was being served in the cart ahead.

Had he looked, he may have been able to prevent what had happened next. But he did not, and so what happened happened.

-----

The ten men were spread out. Five of them were located in the third cart, the more important members, going over what was to happen. The other five were spread out along the train as guards, for what, they had no idea, as no one would think to hijack a moving train. That only happened in America.

"So everyone understands what's going to happen?" Flint asked them.

"This sounds a bit extreme, mate," one of them said. "Blowing up the whole world like that? Killing all those people?"

"So what?" snapped Pickett. "We ain't going to blow up the whole planet in one shot; least not right away. Just a couple of cities to show 'em who's boss. If they don't listen to what we tell them, then we whack a country one by one 'til they get the picture."

"He's right," Flint agreed. "I don't even think he's ready to kill the whole planet. But we can use this to our diplomatic advantage."

Even as he said that, he wondered if he actually believed it. Though their leader had always been cool and collected, he knew there was something not right about a man who wanted to blow up the world. As least Voldemort just wanted to get rid of the Mudbloods, but this man's way of thinking was to get rid of _everyone_. A bit extreme, even for Flint.

But he shrugged it off. His place had never been to question what the overall plan was. His place was just to carry out orders as best he could. He had done his role; let the boss worry about his own.

-----

Brian was towards the front of the train, smoking. He knew it was bad for him; cancer or whatever the Muggles said about it. Whatever, he could take a potion or something, delay its growth if not completely be rid of it. Besides, if this really was the end of the world, it probably did not matter anyway.

His job as errand boy had been a tiring one. Running back and forth between places observing the Aurors and delivering messages and keeping surveillance wore him out to the point where even if a lovely prostitute had come up to him looking for a "wham bam thank you m'am", he would have been too tired to comply. He had more Frequent Apparator Miles than anyone else he had ever known, and the lag was wearing him to death. It was coming to the point where he was tired enough to fall asleep in front of a moving train.

Oh well. At least his job was done, and he could relax now. This whole plan was confusing as hell, and he could barely make sense of any of it, but his position on the ladder of command was not to ask, but to do. He had done, so that was that.

He flicked his cigarette down through the crack between the two carts and watched as it immediately got run over. He whistled, leaning forward to watch it. It would suck to be hit by those tires, going at the speed it was going. When he was a child he used to be fascinated by the structures of trains, how they moved, how they worked-

BAM!

He felt the foot kick into the back of his head and throw him off-balance. He fell forward through the crack between the carts and it was only grabbing hold of the edge that prevented him from getting flattened. He gritted his teeth, trying to support his weight, but holding. He managed to flip himself over, get on his back, to try and call for help-

_And found one of the Aurors standing where he had been moments before._

Before he could get a cry for help up, he lifted his and brought it down on Brian's chest. It felt like a weight slamming into his chest and then lift back up and then come back down a second time. The edge was cutting into his palms, blood was oozing from the cuts, and he knew that one more kick would send him straight into the-

The third kick made his grip slip, just a little, but before he could regain it, one final kick sent him down. The tire hit his back, and he folded up as the train ran him over, snapping his spinal cord in half and tearing him into pieces. The carts bumped every time one of them ran him over, and when the train finally made its pass, there was only a long red splash that trailed behind them for several miles longer.

-----

Flint felt the slight jump and frowned. That had not felt right. It was common for them to jump a little, like a toy car driving over a pebble, but that bump had felt like passing over a dirt mound. Not what he remembered the usual train route feeling like.

He looked around. The rest of them had felt it too. Pickett was raising an eyebrow at him. Flint just shook his head.

They probably just ran over a raccoon.

-----

The two men up front were keeping the train on track when the door suddenly burst open. Before they could turn, a green light blasted at one of them, and he flew backwards and slumped, dead. The other man fell backwards on his own, fumbling for his wand before Rodyle slammed her foot into his shoulder.

"Go for that wand and it'll be the last thing you do," she hissed at him. "Where are your friends?"

"Three carts back, middle section," he told them, wincing from her foot in his shoulder.

"Thank you." She reached down, took his head in between her hands, and twisted. There was a sharp CRACK! as he fell dead to the floor with a broken neck.

She stood up and put her finger on the call button of her headset.

"Third cart towards the front. Move in from both sides."

-----

Something was wrong now. They were slowing down, and there was no way they could be there yet. He looked at his watch which confirmed the notion; still another hour. Those idiots were told not to slow until they were five minutes in. What was going on?

"Pickett, head up there and ask why they're slowing down," he ordered.

His second grumbled and started getting up. He had not even made it to the door when they heard something-or someone- on the roof of the cart, scurrying like animals towards the rear. Flint got his wand ready as the shuffling went on and on until they finally got off the roof and to the door. He turned to one of the men to tell him to go and check it out when the door burst open and-

What happened next, he never got to process. He never found out how they knew they were at Hogwarts. He never found out how they got on the Hogwarts Express. He never knew what had happened to Brian or the other men not in the compartment with them. All he ever knew was what had happened in those few moments.

When the door burst open, a green light shot out and hit the man he had just tried to talk to, throwing him against the wall. He ducked as another one flew at his head and fired one back of his own, which did not hit a thing that he could tell. Another one of his men was hit and went down right on top of him.

Pickett did not even have a chance to turn around when the other door burst open and three green-colored spells slammed into his chest. He flew into one of the booths, crashing through the glass windows, and lay on his back with his legs hanging out the smashed window. One leg gave a feeble jerk and then finally went still.

Flint knocked the dead man off of him and was preparing to stand when someone grabbed his shirt and slammed him against the wall. It was Weasley. Flint looked as the other Aurors killed the last of his companions and glared at them. He was now their prisoner.. well, if they believed him to talk, they would be sadly mistaken-

Weasley pulled out his wand and jabbed it right against his chest. Flint looked down at it, then back up at the red-headed Auror and realized by the look on his face that he had no problem with doing it. That he would do it.

"This is for almost knocking Harry off his broom," was the last thing he ever heard, right before, "_Avada Kedavra_."

-----

Ron watched as his old enemy slid to the floor, with the dead, surprised eyes staring at him all the way down, now fixated on his legs. He looked up at Loiselle.

"The ones at the rear were taken out too?" he asked.

"_Oui_," the Frenchman confirmed. "All ten of them are dead and accounted for."

"Huh."

Skip was examining Pickett's dead body. He looked up at Ron.

"His face looks like it took a beating," he told him. "Didn't look like that when we saw them earlier."

Ron shrugged. "Maybe he had a fight with one of the others. Doesn't really matter now."

"Are you sure we should have done this, Ron?" Rodyle asked, concerned. "We could've taken one of them prisoner. Ask him what he knew, maybe bargined for Hermione-"

"He wouldn't have taken the bait," Ron insisted. "He would've killed him before he would've turned Hermione over. At least this way, he's all alone. All that's left between us and him is the distance."

"Whew, you guys left a hell of a mess, huh?"

McAllen pushed past Loiselle into the room, surveying all the damage with a sigh. Loiselle and Rodyle gave each other annoyed looks and sighed. Ron glared at the Irishman.

"You know, McAllen, as long as you're here, you could at least TRY and fight with us," he told him.

"Fuck _that_," proclaimed McAllen. "Between the guy he wants revenge on, the guy who threw a knife into his leg, and the two of you who threatened to kick his ass in a warehouse, I'm the only one who's not on this fucker's shitlist. What do you want me to do, knock him to the ground and shit on his face? No thanks. I'll take you to the watering hole, but I'm not drinking with you."

"...Right, and that means...?" Skip spun his hand in a circle, waiting for a reply.

"Drop it," Ron ordered. "First thing's first. McAllen, keep the train going, stop us when we get close. Rodyle, Loiselle, Skip, help me clean this place up. Get these bodies to the rear, before they stink up the place. We'll be there in about an hour."

"And when we get there, where do we make our headquarters?" asked Skip.

"Hagrid's hut. It's probably abandoned now, McAllen can set his stuff up in there."

The plan, he knew, was a risky one; as all their plans seemed to be. No doubt their killer would know they were coming, even without Flint to warn him ahead of time. It was what he expected of them; of HIM. But even with the knowledge of their arrival, that would not save his life. He had surprised them before, but once the surprise was ruined, he would have to rely on only his magical powers to save him. And against the five of them, they would have to be very advanced powers indeed.

He had nowhere to run but home...and that was no longer a safe place for him to stay.

-----

One hour and twenty-six minutes later, they had smuggled their way into Hogwarts' grounds, and were now residing in Hagrid's old home. As McAllen prepared his equipment, Ron looked around the once-familiar surroundings. Memories of the many evenings spent in the half-giant's company...the jokes told between him and Harry... the many fights between him and Hermione...so many good thoughts resided here, now a tomb, like the school itself.

He snapped himself out of it. There would be time to return down memory lane another time. Right now, business before pleasure.

"Alright," he said, as his team gathered around him. "There are seven floors to Hogwarts, not counting the dungeon and the towers. There are only a few places he can keep his little Doomsday Machine: the dungeons, the Great Hall, or on the seventh floor. The only way we're going to find it is if we split up. Loiselle, you'll stay on the first floor. Do your sweep of the Great Hall and the dungeons, then stand guard at the entrance. Rodyle, Skip, and I will head up the floors through the main and two side staircases. Rodyle will take the second and third floors, Skip will work on the fourth and fifth floors, and I'll take the last two. If you see him, aim to kill on sight. We don't want to chance taking him prisoner."

"If the defenses are down, then he might be able to Apparate inside the school," Skip pointed out.

"That's why we'll stay alert," his friend replied. "Don't let your guard down for a second. And keep your eyes out for Nick; he might still be around to lend a hand. Any questions?"

"Yeah," piped up McAllen. "What am _I_ doing during all of this?"

"You are staying here to monitor what's going on," Ron answered. "Keep an eye on our locations, see if you can find Hermione's."

"And his too, I'm assuming."

"Definitely."

"If we find Hermione, what do we do?" Loiselle wanted to know.

"Take her and report back here. She can stay with McAllen while we clean up. Anything else?"

They all shook their heads. They all knew their jobs. This is what they had joined the Auror department for; because every now and again, they would have to take down a building and flush out the bad guy and save the hostage. This was their territory, not his.

"Alright, let's move."

Ron remained while the other three got up and moved out the door. He looked at McAllen.

"Keep an lookout for him, Joe," he told the technicial wizard. "Let us know if he's coming."

"Hey," McAllen called as he turned his back. "Got anything else to say to me?"

Ron looked back at him and grinned.

"Yeah...don't get us killed, alright?"

He winked and was out the door behind the others. McAllen just watched him go, his jaw clenched, his left eye twitching a little bit. He returned to his work, muttering under his breath.

"How about, 'Thanks for the lift, McAllen?' How about, 'Thanks for telling us about the machine, McAllen?'" He sighed grudgingly. "How about, 'Thanks for dragging your ass halfway across the world when you SHOULD have been enjoying your vacation, McAllen?' Jesus, I'm going to NEED a vacation after THIS vacation..."

-----

The entrance was abandoned, as predicted. Once again, old memories resurfaced in an old hallway now dark and desolate, its walls long unattended to. The warmth it once held was gone; now it was only cold and empty.

He looked at his team. They all nodded; they understood what they had to do. He got out his wand.

"Alright," he told them. "Good luck. I'll see you all later."

It was the last time the four of them were together as they all went their separate ways.

* * *

Okay, small chapter, I know. But I like it despite it. Plus, it's out within the same month as the last one, which is something I haven't had happen since...2007, I think?

So yeah, this is it for now. Let me know what you think, and...oh! If you want to see what I thought of the Half-Blood Prince movie, check out my video on my Youtube channel. I've got links to other videos on my Fanfiction account, so you can get to it through there.

But yeah, review, subscribe, favorite, whatever makes your fancy, and have a good one!


	21. One By One

Kristen- Apparently not! Apparently, I'm getting my groove back. I think now that I've passed over the more demanding chapters, I can start dishing them out more often until the end. Don't quote me on that, I've been wrong before, but it seems as though the light really is appearing at the end of the tunnel.

catlady45- Well, in retrospect, every story in literature has already been done a million times. What makes a story unique from others of the same topic, however, are the characters added, the direction it takes, and the spin you give it. And thank you for the review/comment/worship/whatever you wish to call it. I've said it a few times, but writing is a bit of a serious career choice for me, and I use my fanfiction to improve myself for the Big Leagues. All my stories are a never-ending trial of new ideas as they go, and I try to keep it all as fresh as I can, but it's nice to know I can actually tug at a few heartstrings.

Kind of a long winded speech there, but you gave me a review of equal size, so I think it's appropriate.

Aslaug Vanessa- It's funny; it's taken me almost three years to write a thing that can be finished in one sitting. I find it funny how that works. Ha ha. But glad you like it.

And here is Chapter Twenty-One, and, depending on how involved you've been with the story and the characters up until this point, this may be a particularly sad chapter for a lot of you.

Warning ahead of time, it DOES get a little...messy.

Weep at your own peril.

* * *

Chapter Twenty-One: One By One

Loiselle ran his fingers frustratingly through his hair as he did his sweep of the first floor. Nothing except a rat scurrying down one of the old tables and what he thought was a suit of armor taking a stroll, though how it was doing that he was not sure. No killer, no machine, not even a henchman for which he could challenge to a duel. Weary and a little frustrated, he put his hand to his headset.

"Loiselle to McAllen, first floor is clear. I am heading down to the dungeons," he reported.

"_Roger that. No sign of anyone coming your way, you should be fine."_

"You would tell me if there was, right?"

"_You'll be first on my list, right after the funeral home."_

_Wise ass, _Loiselle thought bitterly as he hustled down the stairs. A simple "yes" or "no" would suffice just fine.

If the rest of the castle was more doom and gloomy now than it had been before, he did not even want to know how the dungeons had once been. A whole team of Muggle plumbers would not even be able to clean this place up. The roof leaked something, whatever it was could not possibly be sanitary, the walls and floors were covered with cobwebs, the stone tiles were lose and wobbly with even the slightest step, and there was something repulsive- spider intestine, maybe?- covering the floor. Whoever had been down here had either been having fun throwing guts around, or knocked something over on his way out the door.

"_Le fils d'une chienne_," he muttered under his breath as he heard a squishing noise under his foot. He lifted it to find red and green chunks on the sole of his shoe. "_Le fils d'une CHIENNE!_"

He sighed as he did his search. When he had signed up to be an Auror, he had not quite grasped how dirty it would get. With _Avada Kedavra_ around, he never thought he would have to be concerned with getting blood all over him.

And now? Now, he had had more blood on him in the last four days than in the last four years. He could BATHE in it, that's how much there had been. Brownside's blood alone would probably start its own waterfall. He hated blood, it repulsed him, and yet here he was practically showering in it.

So why was he here? Because he wanted to make an honest living. Back in France, let us just say his family was not among the most affluent. His father and uncles had had to steal a lot. Being an Auror to him basically measured his worth as a human being. Plus, there were many beautiful women to flirt with.

He sighed. He had tried his best to be a good help on this mission, but all he felt like was excess luggage. Back-up. Errand boy. Anything but a real help. McAllen had only been here for a few hours, and already he had almost solved the whole mystery. Losielle had been hired on for his expertise and his muscle, but the sitting around, the waiting, that was killing him.

Sure, there was the attack in the park the other day, but that had lasted mere minutes. And then there was the fight outside their headquarters, where he had done his best and _still_ let them capture Hermione. He felt like his only moment to shine had been on the train- and what a moment that was, they had not even put up a fight.

He had finished securing the old Potions room and was about to walk out when he noticed the room in the back, probably the professor's office, whomever it had been. Aiming his lit wand, he slowly approached the door and silently pushed it open.

At first it looked like nothing; just another empty room, like everything else in this castle. But it caught his eye on his way back out: two old chains nailed into the wall, the shackles open. He calmly approached them and examined one. There was something slimy on it. He rubbed a bit onto his finger, brought it to his nose, and sniffed. Oil; someone had oiled this, and very recently too.

He stood up and again brought his hand to his headset.

"Loiselle to McAllen, we have bindings down here. Looks like they have been used recently. Might have been from Hermione, though she is not here now."

There was no response.

"Loiselle to McAllen, do you hear me?"

Still nothing. The dungeon walls must have been causing interference. That was the problem with using McAllen's little toys; you can put any kind of spell on them, but they were still Muggle toys, and they would still abide by the rules they had been made under.

Blowing frustratingly out his mouth, Loiselle left the room and headed out for the last door on the floor, the one at the far end. Ironically, it was always the one farthest from the door that was last on a search. He wondered who had made that rule up, or if it was even a rule, if it was just something that detectives did naturally. Maybe it was the thrill of danger.

And then he wondered, _why am I even thinking about this now?_

The room behind the final door was just as depressing as the others, he was unsurprised to find out. Nothing really in this one, just a small wooden table and a chair that had not been sat in for years. The blackboard was wet with slime and the chalk had dissolved to powder long ago. There was a door at the far end of the room, probably just a closet, but still something he needed to check out.

Loiselle crossed over, grabbed the knob, twisted and pulled. It rattled, but did not budge. Annoyed, he tried again. This time, nothing.

He sighed. " _Le fils d'une chienne."_

He pocketed his wand and grabbed a hold with both hands and pulled. Once, twice, nothing. Finally, on the third pull, he swung it open-

And found a wand pointed directly at his face.

"_Deviggio."_

The blue spell hit him with the weight of a brick. All at once his body exploded, blood shooting out of his chest, arms, legs, and head. He was thrown backwards and across the table. He fell on the other side, out of sight. Almost immediately, a pool of blood began forming out from behind it.

The man stepped out of the doorway and made his way around the table, stepping right into the widening blood puddle. The Frenchman's body was practically destroyed, organs and everything. The eyes were glassy and shaky, though within seconds, they widened and lost focus.

He grabbed him by the legs and dragged him out of the room, a blood trail following them out.

* * *

Rodyle turned her head to look over her shoulder. She thought she had just heard something, but there was nothing there. Shrugging, she resumed her work. She must have just imagined it.

She had finished securing the second floor, and now was working through the third. Nothing had been found, save for some old schoolbooks, written all over by several obviously-bored students. No big surprises. Not that she minded that. She had had enough surprises for one assignment.

She had become an Auror to make up for missing the war, but now, she was beginning to feel as though she had had enough. Auror work had its perks, but the hazard pay just was not worth the thought of dying at any moment. She had been doing this job for years, and now she felt it time to throw in the towel and retire.

Still, she wondered as she finished searching one of the rooms near the staircase, what would she do if she did quit? Maybe go back home, spend some time with her parents. Her dad was not the young man he once was, and she could spend some time helping him get to his feet. Maybe find some desk work; maybe even with the Aurors. She could request a desk job there, only work filing, reports, maybe DNA testing, stuff like that. Stuff that would not threaten her life.

She glanced over the side of the railing. It was three floors down, not enough to kill, but definitely far down enough to break a leg or a rib, or hell, even her back. The only thing she may have been able to use to stop her fall was the chandelier on the second floor rising, but given all the hooks and sharp ends that were built in to the center and ridges- especially the sharp-tipped diamond in the center-, that might just cause more pain. She aimed her light down to the bottom.

"_Wheeeeeeeew_...boom!" she whispered, her face expressionless.

She turned away and returned to her search. Her wand was in both hands, the _Lumos_ light at maximum. Slowly, expertly, she searched room after room, corridor after corridor. Her guard was up, her eyes alert, darting from shadow to shadow.

She felt as though she was being overly paranoid. But after what had happened this week- the park, the warehouse, Brownside, their HQ- she felt like she had to be. Whatever got her back home alive and in one piece was fair game in her book. Her grandmother always liked to say, _Do whatever it take to live, and fuck the rest of them._ Crude, it was, for an old lady to speak like that, but the truth behind it was something she had always marveled at.

Something crashed to her left. She turned and aimed her wand at the door leading into the old Charms classroom. It was not a little noise, like someone had dropped a pocket mirror, it sounded like someone had just shattered a whole China set. Either someone was being exceedingly clumsy...or someone wanted her to check it out.

Well, if they wanted to bait the tiger, than they would suffer the consequences. She pressed forward, wand ready, and gently pushed the door open.

She frowned. The entire room was empty, except for a large glass container that had been deliberately dropped, that she was sure of. So where was their guy? Or was it Loiselle, playing a trick on her? She would not put it past him; he had done this to her before.

She stepped in slowly, keeping alert. There was no sign, other than the broken glass, of anyone having been there. It had to be Loiselle. Yet she could not entirely convince herself of the fact. Even Loiselle would not pull something so juvenile at a time like this.

"Where you at?" she whispered under her breath, eyes still darting from side to side. "Where you at?"

"_Right behind you."_

If his breath had not been right on the back of her neck, she would not have even heard him. She spun around and instantly fired a nonverbal cursed that missed as he grabbed her arm and twisted it so that the wand aimed past his head. He twisted her wrist so that her wand fell out of her hand and clattered to the floor.

She kicked him in the leg and then rolled forward to the door and ducked out just as he fired off the destruction curse that blew a hole through the wall. She hid behind some armor, waiting for him to come after her, praying he would come through the door.

He did. He did not take two steps out the door before Rodyle knocked the suit of armor down upon him, knocking him over. The armor broke into pieces on the floor as he groaned. She kicked the wand out of his hands.

"It's over," she told him, "you're under arrest-"

He held out his hand and blasted her backwards, throwing her against the ground so hard that she slid and hit the railing. She felt it crack from the force of the throw, but that was the least of her concern. He could use magic without a wand. The situation just took a turn for the worst.

She felt his hand grab her neck and lift her back up. She glared right into his hidden face, before she kicked him in the gut, loosening his grip and bringing him to his knees. She then broke free, spun, and kicked him in the head, knocking his hat off.

Her eyes widened as he stood back up, the top half of his face now exposed. Her face paled.

"You..."

Before she could do or say anything, his fist contacted with her chest and forced her over the railing. Surprised, she reached for the railing but missed as she plummeted towards the floor-

And landed right on the chandelier, her body becoming pierced by the hooks and edges as they impaled her back. The center diamond thrust up right through her chest. The weight of her body caused the chandelier to tip, hanging sideways while Rodyle hung straight, her feet pointed towards the floor.

She coughed up blood that splashed upon her face. Struggling, she bent her head up to look at the numerous hooks that now skewered her body like shishkabob, the diamond that now jutted out from between her breasts. She opened her mouth to speak, but all that came out was a gargling sound as more blood bubbled out. She rested her head backwards, her eyes staring up at the ceiling, at the cloudy night sky that the only magical incantation left still portrayed.

Her pupils dilated, and her breathing stopped, the identity of her murderer dying along with her.

* * *

Skip peered through the portrait hole into the kitchen and lit it up with his wand. Surely there had to be something to eat, no matter how old it was. He was starving, he had not eaten all afternoon, and surely one little bite would not kill him.

He shuffled through the cupboards, opened the drawers, and checked every nook and cranny of the pantry in the hopes of finding something edible. Whatever house-elves had worked there before, however, must had been extremely thorough in moving everything to the new school. There was nothing there, not so much as a crumb.

"Great," he muttered. His stomach growled in agreement.

He stepped back out into the hallway and returned to his work. As he went, he had to wonder why he made these little distractions for himself. This was a matter of life and death- where the right movements would get them all home okay, whereas the wrong movements would end them all up with Brownside- and here he was, trying to stuff food down his gullet. Most people, people who did not know him, would consider him uncaring.

But the truth was, if he did not try to find humor in the situation, he would probably go insane. His work took him through some particularly gruesome stuff, and one needed a sense of humor to keep himself intact. So he joked, and he pranked, and he ate whatever piece of junk food he could get his hand on in order to cope with whatever horrid scene he was involved in. That, and knowing that his wife was waiting at home with a nice big steak dinner, his two little girls running around like howler monkeys and tackling him the moment he came in through the door.

He reached into his pocket and pulled the picture of his family out. The main thing a detective needed was a family. It gave him hope, gave him something to think about, something to look forward to at the end of the day. He had loved Kristina for years, and the fact that they had gone to school together had made him comfortable around her. They had great chemistry, great sex, and they always had something to talk about. His two daughters (soon to be three, he did not care what Kristina said, ) were simply put the best little angels a father could be blessed with. He made enough money to ensure that they would be taken care of, if something were to happen to him, but money did not mean jack if there was one less full chair at the dinner table.

He stuffed the picture back into his pocket. He would be back in time for Baby Girl DuMont Number Three to be born, no doubt about it, and anyone who tried to stop that from happening had better have a really damn good Shield Charm, otherwise, they would not be in his way for very long.

He passed down the corridor, pausing a moment to tap on the helmet of a suit of armor that was holding two swords with silver-coated handles. The head turned as if to glare at him.

"Sorry buddy," Skip said with a grin, as he stepped into the next room.

He waved his lit wand around the room. There were old desks, all of which had not been sat in for some time. The chalkboard was so dry that it was probably unusable; he grabbed a piece to test the theory, but it dissolved between his fingers before it even made it off the rack. He found it hard to imagine, as he took another look around, that students had once learned from this room. Maybe even Ron.

Somehow, the image of Ron sitting like a good little boy in a classroom brought a laugh to Skip's face as he stepped back out.

But once he closed the door and looked around, the smile soon slid off his face.

_The armor's swords were gone._

He whirled around the hallway, now slightly panicked. He had only been in there for a minute; how the hell had someone come out here and stolen the swords without making a sound? Surely he would have heard something, clanking, crashing, smashing, ANYTHING. He pressed a finger to his headset.

"Skip to McAllen, I'm pretty sure the guy was just near me. Just to check, am I in any immediate danger?"

There was no response.

"Ha ha, funny joke. No, but seriously, am I in trouble?"

Again, no response. Skip clenched his jaw.

"Joe, let me remind you of how this works again," he said. "I go in, I find the killer, I _apprehend_ the killer, so basically, I do all the dirty work. All we ask of you is to keep an eye on our locations, and most importantly, make sure he is in HIS and NOT right behind me. Okay? So can you stop sucking down your fucking coffee for _two seconds_ and just tell me if he is near me?"

No response. Skip took his headset off and checked the settings. Everything was working properly. McAllen was just not listening.

Or maybe he was unable to.

Skip suddenly grinned. Of course, it would make sense; cut off their link, and it left them without a clue. Just the way he liked to play it.

"Alright, Mr. Killer," he said under his breath, raising his wand again. "If that's the way you want to play, then by all means, let's play."

It was different now, his search. The humor of it was gone; now it was time to be serious. That guy was playing with him, he was sure of that; he could have come in and attacked at any moment during his time in the room, but all he had done were grab the swords. He was trying to draw him into the game- and he would play it, only he would be the winner.

He pushed open a door and quickly peaked in, stepped back out, stopped, and then peaked back in. there was a basin on a stool right in the center. A Pensieve? Maybe. He crept in, closing the door behind him.

He approached it slowly and prodded it twice with his wand. It was a standard stone basin, with some type of water, probably not the drinking kind, inside. He stuck the tip of his wand in, and then yanked it back when something began to appear:

_Insert five Galleons for advice_

Curious now, yet still on edge, he reached into his pocket and pulled out five Galleons. He finally found them, and tossed them into the basin. He watched them sink to the bottom, and waited, tapping his foot as he waited. About three minutes passed before words finally floated up to the top in big letters:

_LOOK BEHIND YOU_

Skip snorted.

"Oh come on," he said. "That's the oldest trick in the book. How fucking stupid do you think I am?"

"Pretty fucking stupid, I'd say."

It happened quickly. Skip turned around, wand out, and fired off a curse as the murderer slapped his arm away, resulting in the curse shooting out and destroying a window. He fell backwards, knocking the basin over and spilling the water all over the floor, the words sliding out and falling all over.

When the killer came at him, Skip fired a Disarming Curse, which was deflected, and then slid his knife out, standing with wand in one hand, blade in the other. He fired another deflected Disarming Curse and lunged and swiped with his knife, which was dodged. He spun his knife around in his hand, then grabbed the butt and slashed twice.

The first time was dodged.

The second one made a cut into the killer's arm.

He grabbed his arm and glared at him. Skip gave him a lopsided grin and gave him a two-fingered salute.

The man grabbed his wand and fired a Reductor Curse. The force behind it knocked Skip off his feet and sent him flying through the wall into the next room. He landed on his back, then picked himself off, fired a curse through the hole in the wall, and ran like a bat out of hell out of the room.

He got out and was around the corner just as the assailant came out of the other room and fired off a curse, which missed and blew apart half the wall. He fired one back over his shoulder as he turned the next corner, knowing he was missing, but hey, maybe it would scare him off.

He ran until he hit the dead end and then turned and aimed his wand down the hall. Last stand time; if he wanted to come at him, he was ready. One thing about Americans- they loved a good gunfight, or in this case, wandfight. He got himself ready, wand aimed right down the hall...

No one came.

He stayed in that position for what felt like an hour before he finally relaxed. He lowered his wand and fell back against the wall, breathing heavily. He was covered in soot and there was a cut on his forehead from where a piece of the wall had scratched him, but other than that and a sore back he felt fine. He waited another couple of minutes and still no one came. Well, he thought, maybe that was it. Maybe that curse he had fired had not missed after all-

_thunk!_

His eyes widened as he grunted. He clenched his teeth together as a trickle of blood ran down the left corner of his mouth. Panting, his voice going to a higher pitched, he looked down.

One of the missing swords had poked out of the wall and passed right through his right side, in between his ribs and puncturing a lung. Blood was bubbling out of the wound and already spreading a puddle below him on the floor.

He blinked twice, breath coming in rapidly. Wait...there were two swords before, were there not? Here was one...so where was the other-

_thunk!_

Before his eyes, the second sword poked through in the exact same spot, missing the lung but chipping apart one of his ribs, on his left side now. He groaned a cry again, more blood spewing out his mouth and the wound. His breathing grew heavier as high-pitched moans emitted from his blood-covered mouth.

Feebly, he reached into his pocket for the picture of his family. It came out, but he was already so weakened that it slipped out of his fingers and landed face-up on the floor. He looked down at his smiling family, blood dripping down on it, as his consciousness faded. He fought it, but already he had lost so much blood.

With a sigh, his head fell forward and he was still.

* * *

Nothing to say, really.

Review, and see you all next time.


	22. Encounter With The Dead Man

And here is Chapter Twenty-two, a.k.a, Chapter I-Never-Thought-I'd-Finally-Get-This-Far.

Now usually, as everyone knows, I take the time before every chapter to use this space to answer each and every review one by one. I feel it is more professional when I do, and I like to take the time to interact with my readers and answer those questions that they have (unless they ask who the killer is, in which case, they can wait).

However, the last chapter brought in an unprecedented and certainly unexpected amount of praise over my writing style, and so I figured, since we're over twenty chapters in finally, that I would take this time to directly talk to all of you, explain my actions,and explain how I work.

When I plan a story, I usually plan it from beginning to end before I even write it. As a result, I have a very clear idea how the storyline will go, although I can add little things here and there along the way. Crawling Under the Surface is an exception. The storyline, the main storyline, has had little to no changes since its conception and more or less it has remained the same since I first thought it up. The only things added in along the way were adding McAllen as a character and also the overall plan for the flashback chapters, as well as this chapter here. Other than that, everything has gone (more or less) according to my original plan.

When it comes to characters, I go with what I want. I usually have a clear plan for their purpose, and whether or not they are liked or hated does not really fit into the overall scheme. I always know, as I always have known and always will know, who is going to live, who is going to die, and who is going to have some very close calls. That is how I work; I know from the beginning if it is a character that will survive through the end, or if it is one that will, to put it bluntly, buy the farm.

Now, with that said, it became quite apparent to me that Loiselle and Rodyle would not be missed by readers. As the years have gone by, reading all the reviews, I began to get the feeling that the two had become the Paulo and Nikki of my story, and that their deaths would not shed many tears. And I take fault for this; I failed to establish them properly at the beginning and I didn't flesh them out enough. When I started the story, I only saw them as filler characters, and so I treated them as such. The 2006-2007 chapters, while they are the core of the story, they were before I really learned the fine art of writing characters, and by the time I realized my mistake it was too late to go back and correct it. I did not hate the characters, but I acknowledged them as background characters, and so I felt that their deaths would be fitting.

Skip, on the other hand, is a character I feel that everybody loves. He's comic relief, he has a solid back story, and he's a lovable kind of guy. He has definitely been MY favorite character of the whole story (the runner-up probably being McAllen), and I had hoped- successfully, as it turned out- that he would be other peoples' too. And part of the reason why I've dreaded doing this previous chapter is that I knew people would probably not like seeing him get knocked off; especially, as we are reminded, that he has a family.

It always changes the story's dynamic when a character gets killed off, especially a well-liked one. However, with my stories, I've always urged people not to expect anything. True, every story has to have some form of predictability, that's just how the world works. But I like to throw curve balls from time to time. You may already know who the killer is; you may still be grasping at straws (you'll have your chance to show me at the end of the chapter, see the info at the bottom). You may think some people are dead, but you may end up surprised. My point is, expect the unexpected when reading what I've got.

As far as my writing style goes, I've spent the last two years developing and perfecting how I write, and I'm sure you'll see a drastic change from the first chapter, especially with reading the winding and novel-long flashback chapters. Writing is an ongoing period of development, and God knows I've still got a lot of learning to do. But I'm glad to hear that I've gotten crucial moments, such as describing a character's death or how someone may be on the verge of a breakdown, almost down to a pat. I always am glad to read the reviews that a person leaves telling me they've been scared witless, moved to tears, or are on the edge of their seats. I like to hear that I've moved people; I'm extremely critical of myself, and oftentimes I wonder if I'm doing a good job. I know I can't please everyone, but I'm glad that I do please a lot of people.

So I guess this is my thanks to the readers, thanks for sticking with the story for so long (and I think it's finally safe to say that we are almost through this long and eventful tunnel of a story), please stay with it until the end, and...I don't know, just thanks in general, for reviewing, subscribing, favoriting, etc.

With that said, enjoy, and be sure to read the ending message as well, as it also involves all of you, although more interactively.

* * *

Chapter Twenty-Two: Encounter With the Dead Man

Ron was searching the sixth floor classrooms when he got the call. At the time, he thought everything was under control; he never believed that his teammates were getting picked off one by one. Sure, there had been no chatter among them on the headsets, but given the demanding situation, that was understandable. Or maybe there was, and he was just too concerned with finding Hermione to listen to it.

But his awareness to something being wrong was made when his headset made the noise of an incoming call. He fingered the button.

"Weasley, what's up?" he asked.

"_Ron, I just Loiselle's signal."_

He stopped dead in his tracks. "What?!"

"_He just dropped off the map. This red dot popped up, and then just when I noticed it, it and Loiselle's were just gone."_

_What was going on?_

Ron looked around the hallway, fully expecting someone to come up behind him and attack. Loiselle was as trustworthy as they came, and if he had dropped off the map, then something bad had obviously happened.

It was fifteen minutes later when McAllen rang back.

"_What the fuck...dammit, now I just lost Rodyle! What the hell is going on in there?!"_

"I don't know!" he yelled back. First Loiselle, now Rodyle. Was this what he was waiting for? To get them to where he wanted them and then to pick them off? He knew it could not be as easy as they hoped, but his was not what he expected.

He kicked down one of the doors and burst in, wand at the ready. Again, he was finding nothing. Out of frustration, he kicked a desk over. Where was this bastard?

"_Aw shiiit..." _He suddenly heard McAllen curse, then sigh, then say, _"Ron...we just lost Skip..."_

And that was when the realization hit Ron that he was now all alone with their murderer.

Just the way he wanted it.

"Joe," he radioed, "send word to the Aurors in London. Have them grab Huntington and Apparate over here. The Anti-Apparation Spell has been taken off. Repeat, Anti-Apparation is off. And get them all over here fast. You hear?"

"_Copy that, Ron, I'll ha...em ov...re...er."_

"Joe? Joe, you hear me? Get the Aurors, get Huntington, and get over here! Do you hear me, Joe?"

This time, all he received was static.

That did it. Ron ripped his headset off and threw it against the wall. It broke apart, the magical circuits spitting out sparks before it died. He burst out into the middle of the main hall and started screaming, screaming at the top of his lungs, screaming louder than he had ever had before.

"WELL?!" he shouted into thin air. "YOU WANT ME?! HERE I AM! COME AND FUCKING TAKE ME! WHAT ARE YOU WAITING FOR?! _HUH_?!"

There was that taunting silence for his answer. In all honesty, he had expected as much. This was his game, and he would have it played as he saw fit. And if he wanted the other players out of the way, if he wanted it so that it was just Ron and him, then it was fair game. His rules were the only rules, and he would be forced to play to them as best he could. And he would.

But his friends...his heart ached just thinking of them, that they might be...were, dead. Loiselle and Rodyle had been the most dedicated Aurors he had ever known. And Skip...his best friend since Harry had died...for Ron, it had felt as though he would always be there, with his wisecracks and smirk. He could not really be dead...not with Kristina and his daughters waiting, not with his third child so close to coming into the world...

"_Damn it!" _he screamed, slamming his fist against the floor. That son of a bitch...he was going to get what was coming to him, he would be sure of that.

He took a deep breath to try and calm himself down as he picked himself back up. He brushed the dirt off his pants and looked up, about to get himself moving again and avenge him fallen-

_Someone just went through a door._

He had just seen someone standing at the other end of the hall, staring right at him before he had disappeared through a door. From where he was, all Ron could see was that he was dark, so dark that he could not tell if it was clothing he was wearing, or if that was his skin.

He wasted no time. Clutching his wand firmly, he sprinted down to the end of the hallway and kicked open the door, his instrument ready for anything and anyone that came at him.

He recognized immediately where he was; Moaning Myrtle's bathroom. Even with the ghost of the poor Hogwarts student gone, water still seeped all over the floors and overflowed the toilets and sinks. He was knee deep in water and waste, and more than once he had the belief that he was stepping in feces. He muttered "Lumos" and the end of his wand lit up so that looking down, his suspicions were fully confirmed.

He looked around. Someone had come in here, it had been as plain as day. So where was he now? There were only so many places where he could hide-

He heard a splash behind him. He turned around just in time to see someone whip around the corner. He followed, sloshing through the muck as fast as he could and peered around with his wand ready to reveal-

Absolutely nothing.

He fell back to the main cubicles. It was like the person was a ghost...and then he remembered. Nick. Nick was still here. But if it was him, why would he not just come out to see him? Did he not know it was Ron? Or was he avoiding him? It was true their relationship at school had not been one of the best, but even still, to avoid him at a time like this was ridiculous.

"Nick?" he called out. "Nick, it's Ron. Come on out, mate!"

There was no response. He pushed open the doors to the stalls, one by one, finding nothing in each one. The last one was hanging by one hinge, and when he pushed on it it fell off and landed in the water, splashing water- and other liquids that he would rather not think about- all over his shirt, but still he found nothing. He turned back down the hallway, more confused than ever.

"Nick?" he called again.

"Nick's not here."

He froze solid. The voice sounded hoarse and rough, with more scratches in it than a cat's scratching post. And yet despite the change to it, it was too familiar to be someone different...

Slowly, he turned around to see a young man probably not even in his twenties. Once upon a time, he may have been remotely good looking, but now he was covered from head to toe in horrible third-degree burns. His hair, which had once fallen over his face, was now nothing more than a few stray hairs poking out of a mold of rotting flesh. His eyes were yellow and sunken, his nose had disintegrated to a stump, and his lips were like hardened and twisted pieces of rope. His earlobes were gone; not cut off, which would have been ironic for him, but either burned off or blown off when he had hit the surface.

His arms were hanging limply at his sides, and Ron could see that the ring finger had fallen off of his left hand. But the truly worst part was his neck, his horribly torn and shredded neck that was probably resulting in his now scratchy voice. His clothes were tattered and barely held together over his desecrated corpse of a body, yet at this stage of the game, he probably had no care for them.

His lips twisted into a horrible half-grin.

"Hey there, Ronnie," he said in that dark, scratchy voice that he would never have had in life. "Long time no see."

Ron was so surprised that he fell backwards into the murky filth, now getting soaked to the bone. But the slimy wet did not bother him; not when faced with this new arrival, the one that could not possibly be standing there. He was not a ghost, he realized as he tried to back away; if it was, he could have seen right through him. But he definitely was not alive; that much he had known, these past few years.

But yet here he was, taking a step towards him with every crawl backwards. He raised his hands in peace.

"Relax," he said. "It's just me. Mathew."

He stepped over him and sat by the windowsill, looking out for a moment as if there was something out there that fascinated him. Then he looked back at Ron, still sitting in the water.

"I'd get out of that, if I were you," he told him. "A soggy detective isn't really that intimidating."

"I don't understand," Ron finally stuttered, grabbing the edge of the sink and picking himself up. "You're not a ghost...I'd be able to see through you if you were..."

"Very true. I'm not a ghost."

"Then how...?"'

"I'm a Spectre," Mathew explained slowly, as though there was all the time in the world. "I'm a tortured soul. We abide by different rules than ghosts. We're not allowed to interact with human struggles, merely to observe them. I guess you could say we're the detectives of the ghost world, although we can't help the mortals with their cases."

"Why...why do you look like..._that_?" Ron asked, indicating the burns.

Mathew choked out a harsh bark-like laugh.

"I got burned bad enough to make Satan look like a pussy cat," he reminded him. "My appearance, my vocal cords, they were all mutilated by the curse. This is to be expected."

Ron pulled over a barstool probably left behind by a first-year inspecting her hair and sat down. His former friend looked and sounded so different, and yet it was the same person he had once sat on a grassy cliff with and showed the picture of himself and Hermione to.

He knew of the Spectre, of course. Muggles would probably refer to them as "zombies", on account of that they were more real in appearance than ghosts and did not fly around. Unlike the zombie myths, however, Spectre had full brain and motor function. They were also highly intelligent; in fact, it was believed that their intelligence could rival the centaurs, although neither side would boast that aloud. A Spectre was bound to a single place by some primordial order, whenever there was an unsolved crime or an unknown disturbance, and was allowed only to observe, and never to solve and rarely ever to communicate.

Ron figured that Mathew must be involved with tracking the killer. The odds of him being involved in the same case as his one-time partner, however, seemed too close for coincidence. He swept that thought aside for the moment.

"When did you get back to the land of the living?" he asked, his shock slowly evaporating.

"You've really been behind on the times since you left England." Mathew shook his head, still chuckling. "I've been back for a while now. Two years next month."

"Sorry, I don't come out this way much anymore," Ron replied, not bothering to ask how the Spectre had known he had left England. Being dead probably had its advantages, though he promised himself it would be many years before he found out. "So you've been here the whole time?"

"Mostly. I took over observing once Nick left, and so I've been able to see-"

"Wait, LEFT? What do you mean, left?"

"I don't know. Either he moved to the new Hogwarts, or he finally decided to move on to the next life. Wasn't really my place to ask him."

Ron sighed resignedly. His one link to his past life- the GOOD life- was gone, and in his place was a reminder of a life he would have prefer to have forgotten. Mind, he was glad to see Mathew again, but it was still part of a cursed existance.

"So wait," he said, "does that mean you've seen the guy who's been killing everyone?"

"He's been working on some machine up on the seventh floor," responded Mathew, scratching the back of his neck, and as he did, rotting flesh fell off and to the floor; a sight Ron would rather have not seen. "I don't know what it does. Judging from the ruckus he's been causing, probably nothing good."

"I figured that much out for myself, oddly enough. But-"

"I don't know who he is." His deceased friend stared back at him through sullen eyes. "he works here, but he doesn't live here, and because of my obvious restrictions, I can't go to where he really lives. He doesn't eat, he doesn't sleep, and he never takes his coat off. He's a bona fide Klepto."

Ron felt his spirits plunge off the same cliff the Spectre had gone off years before. "So you have no idea, then?"

"I have my suspicions," was the answer, "but your guess can be as good as mine."

He sighed. So much for getting closer to the answer. Not even a Spectre could help him. He really was screwed.

"Then what are you doing here, Mathew?" he found himself asking the question he should have asked at the beginning.

"Tracking a maniac. Same as you."

"Come on, mate. You just happening to be working the same case as me? I come here tracking him, and end up finding you, who I thought was resting at the bottom of that lake like a fried fish? That's too close to just be random chance."

The two stared hard at each other for a moment. Then Mathew looked down and raised his hands to his face. He examined his darkened hands, his missing finger, the spot on his arm that had already been burned years before his death. He took it all in for one small moment.

"I needed to be sure that the man who caused this was really dead," he finally said, lowering his hands and looking back up at the red-head. "And lately, I've been seeing and hearing far too many things to make me think otherwise."

"What are you saying?" Ron questioned, hands tightening on his lap.

Mathew's lip twisted into another half-smile.

"If Cunningham is really dead," he said, "then someone is doing a damn good job at imitating him."

Ron's breath shortened. All at once, images of his time in the war, of the months he spent with Alex Cunningham and his cronies, torturing, mutilating, raping and killing everyone they got their hands on, of that final day in the woods and on the cliff, came flooding back in a rush. Every horrible thought, every horrible dream he had had, all in one long, fast-paced blur.

"Surely you're taking a piss?" he asked, uncertainty in his voice.

"Ron, I worked with Alex for two years," said the Spectre, and on his face was a look of pain that could rival his own. "I was with him every single day as he tortured victim after victim, regardless of whether or not they actually deserved it. I learned every technique in his book, and performed half of them myself. I may be wrong, but it sure smells like him to me."

"Alex Cunningham is dead," insisted Ron, though he was unsure if he was convincing Mathew or himself. "I killed him myself."

"And again, if he really is, then he left behind one hell of a prodige," Mathew replied with, getting up and moving to the counter closer to Ron. "But I know the technique. This is psychological warfare he's using, not just physical. He breaks people, he tortures them, he inserts fear into their lives. He goes after loved ones if he can't get to the person he's after. I heard about what happened with Brownside, how he completely lost it before he died, and then I think of how he was the strongest of all of us back then. If this doesn't have Alex Cunningham's name written all over it, then my name is Merlin."

Ron sat back and took it all in. Somehow, he never thought that Cunningham could be behind it; he wanted to think him dead, wanted to think he was being eaten by fish at the bottom of the lake. Having this case be about Cunningham was hard enough to grasp; having Cunningham be behind everything was too horrible to imagine.

But the more he tried to believe it false, the more he began to see how it was true. Cunningham had known about Hermione, had known was she did during the war and an idea of what she would do for a living. If he really wanted to settle the score, he would know exactly what would bring Ron right to him.

And then there was the curse itself, _Deviggio_. A curse that killed one instantly, but not before he suffered the worst kind of pain imaginable. That sounded just like Alex's style. As much as Ron hated to think it, the odds of it were pretty good right now.

"Even if what you think is true," he said, his voice still slightly shaky, "where does Nick fit in to all of this? I wasn't aware you two were such good chums."

"He was the one who greeted me when I came back. He was the only one who did." There was a hint of bitterness in the Spectre's voice.

Ron snorted.

"If you're mad at me for not setting up a homecoming party, then fuck you," he snapped. "I've had some problems of my own, in case you haven't heard."

Mathew laughed, a loud bark-like laugh that reminded Ron of Mad-Eye Moody.

"I'm not mad at you, Ronnie," he said. "It's not like you'd know I was coming back from the dead. And dead men don't hold grudges."

"This one apparently does..."

Mathew's grin faded and he nodded despairingly. Ron fell back against the wall and rested his head back, staring up guiltily at the ceiling.

"I cursed him and pushed his body over a cliff because I wanted to be rid of him," he said softly, shaking his head. "But all it did was give him three years to plot his revenge..."

He bumped the back of his cranium against the wall repeatedly. Mathew clenched his jaw and scratched his arm, causing more dead flesh to hit the water.

"You asked about Nick," he said, glancing back up. "He was the one who figured out that the guy- Cunningham, if it really is him- was up to no good. He had me take a few pictures of it, and made sure he got into it so that whoever found them would know that it was Hogwarts they needed to go if anyone wanted to see it up close. Then he scrounged up some documents and pictures and shoved them all into some briefcase."

"The briefcase in the warehouse," Ron picked his head back up and looked at him. "Nick put it there?"

"He must have, but he never came back to tell me where he brought it. Last I saw of him was when he left to drop it off. When our guy found out what we did, he went after him, tried to find the briefcase. But from what I've heard, your guys found it first."

Despite the situation, Ron felt a smile go to his lips. Good ole' Nearly-Headless Nick, helping them yet again. The smile lasted only a minute.

"Wait a minute..." his brow darkened. "When you said he goes after loved ones-"

"It seems that him finding Hermione at St. Mungo's is what set this whole thing off," Mathew agreed with Ron's unspoken realization. "He knows that she's only the bait. The other girls, I don't know if they were just for sport or if he really thought they were her. For whatever reason, he thought killing her would be the key to driving you right up his alley. But after he failed and then you turned up, once it became apparent that you two still had feelings for one another, he realized she was more valuable to him alive than dead. And it looks like he was right, because here you are."

And he, Ron, had fallen for it, hook, line, and sinker. Just like he had back then. But this was different. Because he was three years older and three years smarter than he had been during the war. But even still, going in there alone...

"Mathew," he began to say.

"I can't help you, Ron, as much as I want to," the Spectre said, and for the first time there was real sadness in his voice. "If I could help you, I would have turned him in before that poor man at St. Mungo's had been killed. But this isn't my fight anymore; I'm just the observer. It's all up to you."

"He got to everyone else. Loiselle, Rodyle...Skip...I'm all alone, going up against a ghost-"

"He ain't a ghost. Maybe to you, suffering from the dreams you've been having, he was. But now he's real, and he's still mortal. And you can still kill him, like we all should have back then."

"He's stronger than me. He always has been-"

"He was only stronger than you because he made you BELIEVE that he was stronger than you. You're just as strong as he is, even more so because you're fueled by love whereas he's fueled by death. You got the best of him before; you can do it again."

Ron looked up at his former friend with a newfound respect. In life, he had been willing to stand up to Cunningham for what he had finally come to terms with being right, and now in death, he was doing the same thing. The teenager from New Hampshire was a lot braver than he had ever given him credit for, dead or alive.

The prospect of fighting his old nemesis was one he would rather miss. Malfoy would have been more preferable right then. Cunningham had proven himself to be a man whose only purpose was for himself, and whatever he did to others was fair game. Lives had been ruined as well as ended at his hands, without a shred of pity from him. He was worse than any Death Eater, along the same lines as Voldemort. Simply put, he was a monster. And he needed to be stopped.

"You know how Alex works," Mathew reminded him. "You know how he functions. Talking him down isn't going to work; he doesn't know how to feel pity or mercy. But if anyone has a chance of stopping him for good, it's definitely you, Ronnie."

And this time, he believed him. If there was a chance that he could finally end his nightmares and get back to a life with Hermione, then he had to believe him. He stood up and got to his feet. Mathew just nodded to him, grinning.

"Good luck," he said. "Look me up when this is all over. I owe you a thing or two of firewhiskey."

"Yeah, well, I'll be buying. Spectre money probably won't be much good at the Three Broomsticks."

He laughed as Ron took his wand back out. The two gave each other another look. Then Ron extended his hand, which Mathew took and shook. The red-head could feel every blister, boil, and dead patch on the hand, but he gripped it tight.

"Give him hell for me," said Mathew.

"I will," Ron promised.

They let go, and he gave him one final nod and went back out the door, leaving his deceased friend to stare after him as he left.

"Give him hell for all of us..."

* * *

After three days of waiting, hoping for a clue to the mystery machine, now it finally lay before him.

Ron paused for a moment to gape at the size of it. Nick's picture had not done it much justice at all. The machine was massive, was tall enough to brush against the corners of the newly made hole in the ceiling, and was wide enough to almost touch the walls. There were several tubes pointing out of it, but from what he could see, only one place where he could put the spell. Add the bright lights, and McAllen's earlier words seemed to fit perfectly; this was, in fact, a death machine.

And there, off to the side, curled in a ball, was-

"_Hermione!"_

Hermione looked up, and as she saw him standing there, Ron saw her face go from miserable worry to total fear. Not quite what he was expecting, but at least she was still alive. He took a step towards her-

"Ron, _stop_! Don't come any closer!"

He stopped. "What do you mean?"

"What are you doing here? You MUST know this is a trap, you daft fool!" she yelled at him.

"Jeez, is that the thanks I get for coming to save your arse? You never were a cheap date, were you?"

"Ronald, this is _hardly_ the time or place to be arguing over this-!"

"As amusing as I find this, can you please _shut up_?"

Ron's wand instantly came up as the murderer stepped forward from the shadows with his own wand pointed at him. As they squared off, Ron got the rising feeling in his chest that this was it; this was where it ended. One way or another, Alex Cunningham was not leaving this castle alive.

"You feel that, Weasley?" the man's voice rang. "That's death approaching. In a few more minutes, all of this comes to an end. Right here. Question is...who are you going to let it happen to?"

"I know what this is about," Ron shot back, not lowering his wand a fraction of an inch. "But you're not getting away with this. The British Aurors are on their way, all of them. It's _over_, Cunningham! You lost. Just give up before I have to kill you."

The man stopped in his tracks. Through the slit between the hat and the scarf, Ron could see his eyes widen in surprise, surprise at finally being found out, no doubt. Then the look faded, and he heard the man begin to laugh, slow at first, the gradually getting louder until he was bellowing laughter.

"So you finally figured it all out," he said, his voice raised higher than Ron had ever heard him speak before. "Bravo, Mr. Weasley. _Bravo_."

He raised his wand to his neck and waved it across, and somehow, Ron did not know how he knew, but he knew that the spell was reverting his voice back to normal. Then the man brought his hands to his button and slowly, one by one going down, he unbuttoned the heavy buttons until they were all loose, and he shed the trench coat and tossed it aside, so that only his scarf and his hat were left.

With one final giggle, he removed both the hat and the scarf and dropped them to the floor at his sides._

* * *

_

_Ohhhhhhhhhhhh_, cliffyhanger! Da-_yamn_!

...And to think, _I'm really WHITE_.

Alright, ladies and gentlemen...you all know what's coming next. And it's about fucking time, too, I know. But this time, I'm going to get the chance to hear from you.

Here's how this is going to work:

**You have exactly two weeks from tonight- from Saturday, August 1****st****, to Saturday, August 15th- to make your guess as to who the killer is.**

Remember, like I said above, it could be anyone. It could be a living person, it could be a dead person. It could be someone from the past, it could be someone from the present. Hell, it could even be someone who hasn't even made an appearance in the story, just to fuck with your perception of reality. I like doing that, fucking with reality. Makes life more interesting.

But yeah, if you're a long-time reader, you're a new arrival, or you're just peaking your head in for glance, let me know who you think it is.

And on Saturday, August 15th, I'm going to post, not one, but TWO chapters. Consider it a gift from me to you for you guys being so awesome and I don't know why you fuckers keep coming back, but I love ya. You're like a chimpanzee throwing his feces, I don't get it, but it's adorable.

Okay, you're not REALLY like a chimpanzee throwing his poop around, that would be...really disgusting, and I'm pretty sure it's illegal for a human to do it. Or if it isn't, it should be.

...

Okay, well, now that half of you have closed their browsers and the other half is wondering if they should laugh or not, let's continue with explaining how this is going to go.

So the first chapter, which is already written up and ready to be posted, will be posted **at 7:00 pm, on August 15****th****. **Just a short little chapter, but one that I've wanted to do. The second chapter, which is about a third of the way done and being worked on as we speak, will be posted at **9:00 pm on the same night.**

Now remember, it takes about an hour for this site to actually make the chapters viewable, so if you want to be able to read the chapters when they come out, **make sure you have this story on your Alerts List.**

The reason I've been boldfacing and underlining is because I don't know how else to stress how this is going to go, and hopefully I'll have it pounded into your totally awesome noggins.

But yeah. That's all for now, and I will see you guys in two weeks.

So leave those reviews, make those guesses, and I'll see you later!


	23. Oh No

Alright, tonight is the night. The night we've all been waiting for.

And this will most likely be the shortest chapter I ever write for this story.

This is part 1, part 2 will be up in a few hours time.

Enjoy.

* * *

Chapter Twenty-Three: Oh no...

McAllen was tracking everything from his computer in Hagrid's former cabin. He was watching as one by one, the signals for his teammates went out. First Loiselle's, then Rodyle's, and then Skip's. The whole time, Ron's signal and the signal of the killer's were nice and strong, until finally they were now in the same room together.

This whole thing was a mess. He could not track any other new arrivals, but there was only one member of his team still present right now, and from what he had heard about this killer, one man might not be enough to stop him. Plus, apparently, whatever anti-Apparation spell had been placed on the castle before had obviously been removed, what with the way this guy just popped up and started killing them one by one.

Still, what was his game? Obviously it was a personal thing between him and Ron, but still, a machine like the Supersonic was dangerous even to the every day wizard. Put the wrong spell into that thing and you had a recipe for disaster waiting to happen. Hell, mass murder would not even begin to cover it. It would make the Muggle Holocaust look like an accident.

"Shit..." he cursed under his breath. Things were just going wrong. Was it too late for him to just get the hell out of there and head to Disney? He had been considering going on the Tower of Terror for the first time ever, a ride he had feared his entire life. That elevator from Hell did not seem so bad compared to this. He had lost contact with Ron; he could be of no more help unless back-up came. Should he leave, less that guy realize there was someone else out here and decide to finish the job properly?

"_ding!_"

His headset received an incoming call. He flipped the channel.

"McAllen, where's he at?" he asked, without even asking who it was.

"_Mr. McAllen, we have a problem."_

McAllen, mid-sip of his coffee, stopped short.

"What kind of problem, exactly?" he demanded.

"_It's a nightmare over here. Blood everywhere. And the girl's here, naked, torn completely apart. Looks like our lad got to her."_

"_Shit!_"he knocked some files onto the floor in frustration. He sighed, leaning backwards in his chair. That guy had gone behind them and now he had whacked Lindsay and Huntington. The psycho was taking every ample opportunity to widdle them down until they were all dead.

"Well, that's the most encouraging news I've heard all day," he spat into the headset, hoping the Brits understood sarcasm when they heard it, as he brought his mug to his lips. "Is Cam just as bad?"

He drank in a mouthful as he listened to the response. Next thing he knew, he was spitting it out all over the floor, coughing and choking. He leapt to his feet and angrily screamed into the microphone:

"_What do you mean, he ain't there?!"_

"_I mean, he's not here, sir. There are no other bodies here."_

"Bullshit! Ron sent him to keep an eye on her, keep her safe! He wouldn't leave!"

"_Well, he sure isn't here. Hell of a lot of blood, but only one body. No sign of anyone being dragged off unless it was by Apparation, no signs of struggle aside from that of the girl, nothing suggesting any other attack on anyone else."_

"Well if he's not in the room with her, then where-"

And then it dawned on him. As if someone had flipped a switch in his brain. The surprise came so suddenly and so shockingly that the mug fell out of his hand and crashed to the floor spilling the hot liquid all over the ground. Slowly he turned his head back to the monitor, his eyes staring straight at the two dots, the red one representing that of the killer. His body suddenly felt cold and now more than ever, he wished he was in Disney.

"Oh _no_..."

* * *

DUN dun DUN dun DUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUN.

...Okay, I promise to never ever do that again.

But still, I've been dying to do this chapter for a long time and now it's finally here.

So, I expect tons of reactions, whether you knew all along or not, and I'll see y'all in a couple hours.

Peace.


	24. Truth, Regret, Mercy

And here is part 2.

Hope you enjoy it, because I sure as hell did.

* * *

Chapter Twenty-Four: Truth, Regret, Mercy

Ron could not believe what he was looking at- or more accurately, _who_ he was looking at. It did not seem real. It could NOT be real.

Yet here was the evidence, staring him right in the face with a grin as twisted as the one he had seen those years ago. Same smile, different face. Ron just stood stupified, hardly able to speak, completely unable to move.

"Cameron..." he gasped out.

Huntington just shrugged.

"Yeaaaah...surprise?" he said, giggling a little bit.

Hermione pulled her legs to her chest, backing away from him. Ron's wand hand tightened ever so hard on the instrument with the feeling that he would be needing it soon. Huntington, apparently, thought the same thing.

"Oh don't, don't worry yet," he said. "I'm not, uh, I'm not planning on killing you, either of you, just yet. I kind wanna...get everything off my chest first, you know?"

For this speech, and the remainder of the conversation that followed, Huntington spoke in the most irregular, confusing speech Ron had ever known him to use. He spoke quietly, at times fumbling over sentences, at other times repeating a few words, and at other times he spoke haltingly. He spoke slowly at times, and he spoke quickly at times. During this time he paced, and his hands moved a lot as he spoke. He was so uncharacteristically Huntington that Ron had trouble believing he was the same person.

"See, uh...I've been planning this for a very, VERY long time, but um...well, I didn't, I didn't have the, uh, the proper PLAN for it, you know? It was just kinda...look, there's a woman, she looks pretty, wonder what her insides would look like all exploded and, BOOM! Heh heh...you know?"

Ron did not know. He believed he would never really know, or felt it. Huntington, the kid of the group, the nervous, laid-back Californian with the surfer's attitude, the one he had worked alongside for months...a killer? _Their_ killer? Then another, more horrifying thought hit him.

"Cam," he said, "where's Lindsay?"

"_Liiindsaaaaay_," Huntington drawled out the word, mulling it over, then put on a guilty smile. "Yeaaah, um...she kinda served her purpose. I mean, don't get me wrong, the sex...wow, the SEX, that was just, WOW, you know? Like...best ever, I have to say, in my own opinion. But, um...yeah, she didn't take it too well when I came clean with her, you know? I mean, I just felt, if we were going to pursue a real, REAL, relationship, I should be honest, so I said, 'Hey, babe, by the way, I killed your friend...Daniel? Denny-?"

"_David_!" Hermione suddenly screamed.

"_Yesss_!" Huntington clapped his hands and pointed his finger at her, as if they were on a game show and he was pointing towards the winner. "David, that's who it was. So I told her that, and I think, I _think_, that she didn't believe me at first. Course not; you guys never suspected me, right, so why would she? But I _think_ I eventually convinced her, and when that happened...well, she put up a struggle, and I had my wand near me, so...yeah, it got kinda _messy_."

"_No_!" Hermione cried out, falling against the wall in tears, covering her mouth to keep her from vomiting all over the floor. Ron held back his emotions. Another woman killed, and he had once again been powerless to stop it; even worse, he had given him the keys to getting into her house.

"You crazy son of a bitch," he spat viciously, glaring at his former friend. "Why? Why are you doing this? What's in it for you, Cam? I read your file, man, you've had a pristine fucking life! What could possibly lead you to murder innocent people?"

Huntington clucked his tongue and stared down at the floor, an expression in his eyes that Ron could not tell what it was. If it was remorse or..._fondness_?

"He, uh, he attacked me," he said, his voice as quiet as a whisper. "There I was, six years old in the park, and I couldn't remember how I got there, or who took me there, or why...oh," He raised a finger, "but before I can get into any of that..." He suddenly twirled his finger and then pointed into a random location. "What's that over there, coming at me, what are you, what are you doing..._Ohhhh_, I see, you're, you're trying to, _kill_ me.

"_Yeaaaaah_, heh heh, confusion, I'll tell you about a little, _confusion_. Six years old, playing in the park, and oh, here he is and then we're struggling and oops, you dropped your knife, and now you, um, uh, you suddenly have, um, Dad's _wand_, and...oh, and by the WAY...he, um, uh, this, er, after he's finished, I get a, a good look at him, and I find out, I went through the first twenty-four hours of my six-year-old...LIFE, ha ha, whatever you want to call my existence, by being TORTURED. And- oh! oh!- and by being tortured by someone, who just so happens to be, my _brother_!"

His dialogue was followed by a confused silence. Ron frowned.

"Cam, your brother died when you were two," he said. "You told me that. You showed me pictures, remember?"

"No no no no no," the murderer waved his hand as if brushing the subject away. "Not _that_ guy. Not _that_ loser. Of course, I didn't KNOW he was my brother at the time, but he visited me in the hospital, and he, uh...he told me. Told me I was given up because our mother didn't want to be responsible for raising TWO freaks of nature, of course, why you even wanted ONE, when your husband is ALREADY a freak of nature, that's a whole other story though, but anyway...um, so he told me about, uh, about it and...here's the weird thing, there was a _connection_, a _bond_, and I knew it had to be true, you know?"

Ron shook his head. He did not know at all; he did not know how anyone could have a bond with the person who had tried to kill him.

"See, I had always had the tendencies," Huntington continued on saying, his wand waving around in his hand. "But I didn't..._understand_ them, you know? But Alex, he...he taught me everything. Helped me to understand my potential-"

"Alex?" Ron's face paled. "You're...Cunningham's brother?"

Huntington took a bow.

"Of course, it's a bit of a shock," he said. "But if you think about it, the sign connecting me to him was there all along. Look at my name. Cam Huntington. If you took out both t's, the o, and one of the n's, you get Cam Hunning. But then you rearrange THAT, and what do you get? Little girl in the corner, what do you get?"

He turned his head to Hermione, who had until now been lost in her misery of learning Lindsay was dead. She looked up as he stared at her, her mouth opened, trying to form words, but not having any luck.

Huntington let out a chuckle, then pointed his wand at her. Ron made a move towards him, but he held up a hand and he felt himself freeze in his spot. Huntington's eyes bore right into Hermione's skull.

"What do you get, Miss Granger?" he asked.

Hermione choked back a sob.

"Cunningham..."

"DING DING DING, WE HAVE A WINNER!" He howled loud enough to probably be heard in London, then let out another soft chuckle. He lowered both of his arms and Ron felt function return to his body.

"But yeah," he continued. "Alex is...WAS, my brother. And we had _fuuun_, man. The first people he had me kill were his- our- parents. The mother was easy, killing her was like, _wow_, it's really _that_ simple? The father was harder, equally as deranged, and put up more of a fight, but I suffocated him with the pillow and then gutted him. After that, he only took me on a few more trips, but the killings were never linked to me. I was the sweet, innocent, even if somewhat scarred by the torturing my brother gave me, little boy. And behind the facade..._yeaaah_, I had some fun, just me and my brother.

"Of course, it was hard at times; he spent some time in the asylum, until his _darling_ little brother gave him an 'early' release, thank you, thank you, ladies and gentlemen. Then he went into the war, and he died, and you killed him and...well, that's how we come to now, as they say, although I don't know who says it."

"So that's it then." Ron's hands balled into tight fists. "I killed your wackjob of a brother and now you're going to take your shot. Even if that was true, then why are you doing it now? We've worked together for over a year, why did you pick now to start killing people?"

"Well...heh heh..." Huntington tapped his skull twice and pointed at him. "Well, first, I needed to find that machine Alex used to blow Dublith to Narnia, send it down the wardrobe and turn left at the lamp post, you know? And that took quite a while, the little fucker didn't want to be found. Where you at, Mr. Death? Where you playing Hide-and-Seek with me? Finally, I tracked it to some lab in Greenland, of all places, which, by the way, REALLY isn't that green. Why don't they call it ICEland? I mean, I know the name's taken, but..." He shook his head.

"So I found the machine, but then I thought, how are you- YOU, Mr. Ronald Bilius Weasley- going to be tempted to really come looking. And then one night, I came across a girl with her two boytoys and some other guy who's about to pay her for a lick, interesting show, but what got me was...that...she had messy brown hair. And so I go over, say Hey, they say Hi, I pull out my wand, I mutter the spell, and the grass turns red with the sea of blood, and I say it three more times and...and...it was like _Moses_, of all people, _Moses,_ standing in the Nile after turning the water to blood. Only difference is...the blood was MY doing, not the divine presence's.

"So everything was set after that. I needed some help, and Marcus Flint was just out of Azkaban and in the mood to start some trouble, so I recruited him and then me and him came here and recruited the others. Pickett was in jail for molestation charges, Brian was in for fraud and espionage, et cetera, et cetera. I used all of that to my advantage. It was quite fun."

He winked, and continued pacing. Ron just watched him with loathing content.

"So you knew all along that those women weren't her," he said, remembering his earlier conversations on the subject, first with Skip, then with Mathew.

"Oh, of course," he said. "Just because I had never met the bitch didn't mean I thought every woman with brown hair was her. No, I was just sending the message. Surely after the bodies started springing up, you'd start to notice that there was SOMETHING similar between them.

"But you didn't, and to tell the truth, killing the little slutbags, as amusing as it was to see them get all exploded, was becoming rather dull. So I figured I'd kill the REAL Hermione, and maybe THEN I'd invoke a reaction.

"And...well, we all know what happened after that. I fired my curse, she got out of the way and Dougie-"

"_David!"_

"-Whatever, took the hit instead. And that's when we got called up to protect her. And the best part about it is...I didn't even need to ASK, to be put on the case. I just got put on. I'm the young, inexperienced bitch boy of the Auror Department, sure, let's give him a real case to work on, tough him up a little. Oh, if you had only known then..."

"And so you told Flint and his little gang everything we were doing?"

"And Brian was outside listening in to confirm. He cast an Invisibility Charm, snuck past the defenses."

"Unbelievable," Ron shook his head. "We trusted you, and you do something like this."

"Awww, did I hurt your feelings? Oh dear, I didn't mean for that. It's like I took the metaphoric white rabbit that represented your feelings and I smashed it and beat its head against a rock. Boo hoo." Huntington rolled his eyes.

Ron glanced over at Hermione. She happened to look his way. He nudged the wrist of his wand hand. She raised an eyebrow. He made the motion again, and this time she caught on to that he was asking if she had her wand. She gave him a look that clearly said, "if I had my wand, would I really be in this predicament right now?" He cursed mentally.

"Well, if you're done asking the questions," Huntington took out a small vial, "I AM on quite the busy schedule."

Ron turned his head back as the killer backed away towards the machine. He put the tip of his wand to the opening of the vial.

"The machine needs the spell to know what to do," he told them. "Say it into here, slip it in, punch in the coordinates, and good-bye San Francisco." He let out a chuckle.

"Wait!" Ron called out. "Where did Brownside fit into this?"

"Brownside..._Brownside_...hmm, why does that name sound so familiar..." Huntington snapped his fingers. "_Ohhh_, right, Brownside, I remember now. Big guy, dark skin, head cracked open like a pumpkin. Ahhh, good times, good times."

"The man who was killed in that warehouse was not the man who helped win the war. What did you do to him?"

Huntington, his back facing him, stopped his movements. Then he dropped his arms to his sides and sighed, looking up towards the ceiling.

"Do you have..._any_, idea," he asked, looking over his shoulder at Ron, "what a spell like that does to a person? Not just physically, but _mentally_? Do you have any idea what happens to a person who sees it being performed, not once, not twice, but _so many times_ to other people?"

He turned so that he was facing Ron fully again.

"It fucks you up, Ron. Big time. It doesn't matter how strong you are, you could wrestle a full-giant and win, and your brain would still be broken by seeing this spell performed day after day after day after day after day after day after _day_. Brownside was no exception. He authorized its usage through all that, and he sat in to witness what it could do. And even he couldn't survive the aftereffects of it."

"And so you used that to your advantage," the red-haired man finished.

"Brownside was already crawling under the surface of insanity." The murderer shrugged. "I just poked a hole through to let him out."

"You son of a bitch," Ron spat out vengefully. "You were the one who killed that man in the park the other day. Not Brownside. And you let him take the blame for it."

Again, Huntington tapped his noggin twice and pointed at him.

"Of course, I can't really take _all_ the credit for that," he continued to say. "After all, he just made it _so EASY_, not saying anything to defend himself, even when accusations were openly being thrown his way. Fact is, he couldn't. Deep within some weirdo, freak-o psyche of his, seeing that spell performed again, something snapped. And all that pent-up insanity finally had to come out."

As she listened, Hermione remembered that horrible event two days ago- had it really only been two days?- and to the moments before Brownside's horrible demise. Knowing what she did now, she felt, for the first and only time ever, pity for the deceased general. He wasn't bad, or at least, any worse than he already been in her mind; he was just scarred, deranged from all those killings offered in the name of winning the war. The last moments of his life had reflected all of the pain it had caused him.

"Oh, lighten up, you two," Huntington tutted. "It's not like he was the top of your most popular lists. Hell, I even heard you talking about doing him in the same day he died, Ron-o."

"Don't even _try_ to justify your actions to me," Ron growled.

"Justify? What do I need to justify them for? I'm not sorry." And here Huntington's grin changed. It stayed on his face, but there was something more..._malevolent_ about it. "Hard to feel sorry over something that the other person deserves, you know?"

"I don't deserve ANY of this!" the red-head bellowed at him, his face turning the same color as his hair. "I killed the man who wiped a town off the face of the earth! I killed the man who raped a little girl! I killed the man who tortured, and mutilated, and murdered everything on two legs and did it without feeling sorry for ANY of them! And just because YOU were the one person who viewed him as a hero when even his own men viewed him as the monster he was, THAT DOESN'T FUCKING MEAN I DESERVE IT!"

He watched as Huntington's face turned to a look of surprise for a brief moment, then slowly slip the grin back on while staying surprised.

"Huh...well then, what do I know?" He said, tapping his foot. "Oh wait, I _do_ know. Because you were the one who tortured that girl on his first job-"

Ron's face paled. "Stop it."

"-The one who let his partner catch fire and tumble out a window three hundred feet into a lake-"

"I said _knock it off._"

"-The one who let his best friend get blown into oblivion-"

"_Shut it_."

"-And, lest we forget, the one who completely _abandoned_ his girlfriend because he couldn't man up to all the horrible things he did-"

"I SAID _SHUT UP_! SHUT UP _NOW_!"

"She was pregnant. Did you know that?"

Hermione gasped as the words spilled out of Huntington's mouth. She looked at him, mortified. Huntington just shrugged, still grinning.

She turned her head back to Ron, whose face looked expressionless. She was not sure what to do. She wanted him to say something to her, yell at her, break down, _anything_ other than look like this. It was like he had had the Dementor's Kiss performed upon him; he was just motionless.

Then he finally turned to her with big sad eyes that reminded him of a lost puppy.

"You were?" he asked, and the voice was worst of all; he sounded eleven years old again, like he was a lost first-year all over again.

"I'm sorry, Ron," she said, her eyes beginning to shine with tears. "I was going to tell you, but with everything that's...I didn't even know for sure until..." She wiped her eyes. "Until the day you left."

"And then she gave it up because she couldn't raise it on her own," Huntington finished. "Understandable, really, what with the father being a fucking nutcase-"

Before he could end that sentence, Ron raised his wand so that it was pointed right at Huntington's face, his face absolutely livid.

"_Don't,_" he growled, "_give me any more reason to kill you."_

"Well, I already gave you plenty. What's one more?" He looked back down at the vial. "_Deviggio._"

Instead of exploding, the blue spell slipped into the vial. Huntington placed the stopper on to, moved closer to the machine, and inserted the vial into the slot. Instantly the machine came to life, its switches lighting up and from inside there came a whirring noise as it started up. He placed his hand on the lever.

"And now," he replied, glancing back at them, "we get to see everyone else drop the floor just like you friend Davis-"

"_DAVID_!"

"Okay, you know what, I really don't care. David, Davis, the kid's not in the union anymore, so I don't need to be sympathetic."

"Make a move, and you'll be dead before you hit the floor," Ron said, wand staying on his target.

"Hmmm...this looks _very_ familiar," Huntington said with a smirk. "Isn't...isn't this how Alex was killed? Like this, with him ready to kill someone and you ready to kill him? Yeah, this seems like how it went...wonder how THIS time will end?

"But I already know how it will end. You will say the spell, and my dead body will fall and my hand, still on the lever, will flip it and activate the machine and blow up half the world and kill millions. Because that's what happened last time; even though you killed Alex, Dublith was still lost, wasn't it? And history repeats itself, Ronnie. It _always_ repeats itself."

"Yeah? And what's the choice this time, Cam? Because either way I see it, I can stop you before you flip it and still save everyone."

"Can you?" Huntington suddenly pointed his wand, to Ron's horror, at Hermione. "Because either way _I_ see it, you kill me and either half the world comes with me or she does. Either way, I die with a smile on my face."

And right then, Ron found himself in the exact situation he had been in three years ago; him, wand drawn and facing a man he had worked alongside for months, with his wand pointed at an innocent woman and his arm the only thing preventing an explosion of epic proportions. Everything was almost scene for scene, and the only thing he did not know was the outcome. Would it be the same as before? Or would it be even worse?

"Heh heh...I can see your mind spinning now." Huntington sneered at him. "You know this isn't going to end pretty. Someone guilty dies, but someone innocent dies as well. Question, really, is the quantity going to be greater, or smaller?"

Ron hesitated. From the corner, Hermione threw him a helpless look. Her life or the rest of the world's...in retrospect it was not even a choice, but was he really willing to kill everyone to ensure her safety?

"Come on, Ronnie boy. Clock's ticking."

"You won't do it," Ron finally said. "Even you wouldn't kill the entire planet. Alex wiped a town, yes, but his was only as a last resort. He had a purpose, as pointless as it was. You're thinking of doing it just because you can."

"Pretty much, yeah."

"But you won't, Cam. You're not ready to take that step. You can kill people, you've proved that, but you can't kill everyone. No one's that cruel, Cameron. Not even you; not even Alex."

They stared each other down. Mathew's words rang in his ears, how Cunningham could not be talked down, but this was Cameron Huntington, one of the most laid-back, peaceful kids he had ever worked with. A part of that pretense, however small it was, had to be there. It was his only hope.

And he could see, something had changed on Huntington's face. It was no longer sneering, or angry; it was contemplative. Ron's spirit raised; if he was beginning to show doubts, then he could be disarmed before it was too late. He prepared to say the Disarming spell-

"_Crucio."_

Hermione's screams were the worst thing he had ever heard in his life. He turned and saw that she had fallen backwards and begun twisting and writhing in what had to be the most agonizingly painful torture she had ever felt. Her eyes were clenched sight, her arms clawed at the ground, her legs kicked spastically.

"_Ex-" _Before he could even utter the rest of the word, Huntington's other hand momentarily came off the switch and raised towards Ron. He suddenly felt his words choke up. He tried again. Nothing. Somehow, Huntington was tapping into his magical powers to be able to use them without a wand. Terrified, he gaped at Huntington, but he received no reply back; he was too involved in his work.

Hermione rolled over once and hit the wall. Her hands sprung up to her arms and her nails entrenched themselves into the skin, leaving bloody scratches as they dug across her arms. Her foot kicked the wall once, twice, and then on the third kick her ankle rolled. Her screams grew louder and also more hoarse, as tears streaked down her face.

"_Crucia."_

Huntington waved his wand and Hermione's body went slack. The restriction around Ron's vocal cords loosened and he coughed out a gasp. He watched as Hermione, at snail-pace, brought herself back onto her rear, shaking and breathing heavily, hugging herself as if it would save her. She looked at Ron and in a horrid instant, he realized where he had seen that look before.

She looked just like the woman Cunningham had raped.

"So, are we going to stop daydreaming, or do I have to up the voltage?" Huntington asked, and as he placed his hand back on the switch, the earlier contemplative face was replaced again with his sadistic one. "Life, man, it isn't rainbows and sunshines. There is no escape, no escape for _this_, you know? If I can, I will. And I have no problem with wasting either her, or the world, before I decide to go to the big Azkaban in the sky. So again, I ask: what's it going to be."

Ron stared fearfully at Hermione, at how much pain she was in. It was hurting him, and the wand had not even been turned in his direction. It was his fault...all of it was his fault...

"Don't make me choose," he insisted, turning back to the other man, and he was scared to hear that the tone in his voice was fear. He was finally showing fear. "Please."

"Ron..." he heard her whisper.

"_Please_?" Huntington mimicked, then laughed. "Oh, that's rich. You, begging for mercy after all of this. Hilarious."

"Take me." And Ron lowered his wand to his side, and held up his other hand in surrender. "If you want another victim, take me. But leave all those people out of this. Don't punish them because of me."

Hermione watched horrified as he put both arms at his side. Pain shot across his face in a way she had never seen it before; it was as though his whole world had just exploded in front of him before the switch had even been thrown. Huntington raised an amused eyebrow at the spectacle.

"I fucked up..." Ron admitted softly, and as he said it a silent tear ran down his cheek. "I always fuck up. I allowed innocent people to be tortured over and over and I did nothing to stop it. I let a little girl get raped, and I let a kid- a _kid_- fall to his death. I killed the man who caused it all and all it resulted in was my best friend and more innocent people dying. And when I couldn't deal with it, I left the only woman I ever loved, left her while she was carrying our child, and all it brought was more pain.

"So if you're going to punish anyone, punish me. Please, I deserve it. But they don't. Hermione doesn't. Let them live. Just take _me_."

"Ron, _no_," Hermione said as firmly as she could muster it.

"It's okay, Hermione," he assured her. "Cameron..._please_..."

Huntington bore his eyes right into his. Ron lowered himself to his knees and kept his arms out at his side. His wand slipped from his fingers and clattered to the floor, rolling half a foot away from him.

He and Huntington shared a long, hard glare. Huntington smirked.

"You really do love her," he stated. "Don't you?"

Ron stole one final glance over at Hermione before nodding.

"More than anything else."

Huntington nodded and then shrugged.

"Well...then after I'm done with this...I'll make sure to make her death nice and slow for you. That way, when you die, you'll be nothing but an empty shell."

And before their very eyes, he pushed the switch down until it hit the wall with an ear-shattering _thud!_

* * *

...

Okay, it's official.

Something is wrong with my psyche.

I just turned Cameron Huntington into the most fucked-up character I have ever written about.

I need psychological help, methinks.

And the thing is, I'm a very nice guy. Unless encountered with sheer stupidity, I'm a pleasant person to be around, and I especially wouldn't hurt a soul.

Also, I don't refer to any women by the term he used, and I am sincerely sorry if anyone was offended.

Hell, God is a woman. No, seriously, watch Dogma. God is Alanis Morissette.

But anyway..._(clears throat and uses an announcer's voice):_

_Will Huntington succeed in his mass genocide? Or will Ron be able to stop him and somehow save the world? Tune in next time for another exciting episode of..._

_(starts coughing and wheezing, hits his chest a few times.)_

Okay, I'm never doing that again. Jesus...

But anyhoo, I hope you enjoy. I'm right now debating if I want to cut the next chapter into two chapters or just keep it as one. What do you guys think?

Leave some review love, tell me what you think of the chapter, tell me if you think I need serious psychiatric help or not (I swear I'm a normal person), and see you guys next time.


	25. Evening the Score

Chapter Twenty-Five is up and ready! And I think I will split it into two chapters.

I read through all of the reviews from the last three chapters, and I have to say, they all surprised me. Honestly, no one thought it was Huntington? Now, I'm not trying to sound cocky or anything, I was just afraid that at this point I had made it so blatantly obvious it was him that it would have been pointless to even have everyone guess their opinions.

I don't know, maybe just because I'm writing the story, I felt as though I made it obvious. Guess not, though, which is welcoming for me!

But anyhoo, here we go!

* * *

Chapter Twenty-Five: Evening the Score

Hermione squeezed her eyes shut as the switch was flipped. She could not bear to watch any of this.

In her mind, she flashed to all the people who were no longer alive- Kevin, Jeff, David, General Brownside- and wondered what their last thoughts had been. Had they been scared? Surprised? Had they even known they had died? Would everyone know, when they went to bed this night, that they would never wake up?

She wished she could take it all back. Whatever it was that she had done to get her into this position, she would gladly take it back if it meant this would never happen. The last three years, gone at the snap of the fingers. Would that not be better for everyone? Instead of being subjected now to the destruction of everything they had ever known. They had done nothing to deserve this. They were just trying to stay alive. Was that so high a crime?

She clenched her body, waiting for the blow that was sure to come.

Minutes crept by, one after the other. A long heavy silence accompanied the ticking clock. She cracked open an eye.

Nothing had happened. They were still there.

"What the-?" Huntington flipped the switch back and forth several times, with no visible results showing. He stepped back, jaw clenched, eyes in puzzlement, before he then went around to the back of the machine. Hermione and Ron shared a quick look. Ron reached down for his wand.

"No...NO!"

There was a loud banging sound as Huntington smashed his fist against the back of the Supersonic. He stormed back around and aimed his wand at Ron's heart. Ron backed away from his own wand slowly, hands in the air.

"Where is it?" Huntington demanded, his voice sounding deranged. "WHERE IS IT?"

"Where is _what_?" Ron asked, his voice slightly shaky from before but slowly regaining himself.

"The battery," came the reply. "The power source. It's the only way this thing works, and it's not here. _What did you do with it_?"

A warm feeling flowed through Ron's veins as the good news sunk in. Of course. Even with the magical enhancements this thing had received, it was still a machine, made by Muggles. He remembered something McAllen used to tell them: _"Muggle machines- hard to build, but easy to break."_

"I don't think this has quite sunken in for you yet," snarled Huntington. "Do I look like the kind of person you should be fucking with? I will not hesitate to torture it out of you, or her, if I have to and by God, I'll do it! Now _where is my battery_?!"

"Right here, asshole."

Huntington turned just as McAllen's fist made contact with his cheek. The force behind the hit sent him spiraling to the floor, hitting his head roughly against the stonework. He looked up just as McAllen stomped three times and smashed the black box-shaped battery under his foot, rendering it to inoperable pieces.

He raised his wand, but right then Ron dived for his wand and fired a Disarming spell that hit Huntington square in the shoulder, knocking him backwards and sending his wand out of arm reach. He rolled as Ron fired another curse, missing him, and then grabbed his wand and fired one back.

During all of this, McAllen ran through the fire, grabbed Hermione's wrist, and yanked her to her feet.

"C'mon, let's get you out of here," he said.

"But Ron-"

"He'll be fine. This is his fight, and he ain't walking away 'til someone dies. You, on the other hand, are better off getting out of here so you don't distract him."

He tugged her towards the door when Huntington, one arm clutching his shoulder, raised his wand and fired a blue-shaped spell in their direction. It passed right between them, missing their heads by inches, but the surprise of it made them jump away from each other. Hermione fell backwards against a veil-

-And fell through it, bringing the curtain down with her through a circle-shaped hole.

"Aw _fuck_!" McAllen ran over to the hole and looked down. "Shit, shit, shit."

"McAllen! Get out of here! Find her!"

Ron fired another curse at Huntington, who deflected it at McAllen, who barely dodged it as it struck the wall inches from his head. He fell backwards and scrambled out of the room.

Huntington wiped a small trickle of blood from his mouth from where a piece of exploded wall had hit him. He sneered at Ron.

"Just you and me now," he said. "This should be fun."

"Last chance to give this up," Ron said. "Your plan is shot. You're not getting out of this. You can still come quietly."

"Or else what?"

Ron grinned.

"Or else I use my extensive interrogation training to really mess you up."

Huntington laughed.

"Who are you kidding?" he asked. "We both learned from the same master. Everything you know, I know just as well, only I know it better because I've applied it to my life. So what makes you think a whiner who is trapped in self-loathing will be able to-"

"_Crucio_."

He fell backwards, twitching and jerking, saliva shooting from his mouth. He moved as though someone had thrust a power line onto his chest. He rolled and hit the wall and then yelled out.

"_Crucia_."

Ron lowered his wand. Huntington stopped twitching and lay panting and heaving. He slowly brought himself back to his knees and faced his opponent. His mouth twisted into a half-grin despite his pain. Without hesitation, without remorse. He underestimated him.

"Point taken..." he grunted, pushing himself back onto his feet.

"So are we done warming up?" Ron asked, also grinning."I'm ready if you are."

No more begging. No more holding back. No more being at the mercy of these brothers. This night, he would finish what he had started years ago. One way or another, Cameron Huntington, the lost Cunningham brother, was not leaving this castle alive. It was time the legacy was put to rest for good.

Huntington raised his own wand.

"Let's play, then."

-----

"Oof!"

Hermione burst through an empty portrait and fell right into a chair, which along with her collided into a desk. Pain shot through her arm as she felt it bang against the hard wood. She lay there for a moment, catching her breath and waiting for the pain to subside.

A secret passageway. Seven years of exploring every nook and cranny of this place and there was one secret she still had no idea about. And what a way to discover it, being blown backwards by a surprise spell. Harry would probably have loved the irony there. She could have done without it.

She slowly picked herself back up, rubbing her sore arm. What floor was she on? She looked around, but this was one room she had never been in. It looked like an office; not Dumbledore's, nowhere as big, but whose? It was too dark to tell. She wish she still had her wand, it would have been well put to use here.

She opened the door and felt her way around. It was so dark she could barely see three feet in front of her. But as she stumbled over some unknown lump, the thunder outside flashed for a brief moment, illuminating the room and revealing the rows upon rows of long shelves, and then she knew where she was. How she had not seen it, even in the dark, when she had been in so many times before.

She was in the library.

It figured she would have ended up there, of all places. The office must have been Madam Pince's. How had she never known of a secret passage to the library? She would have thought that would have been the first thing she would have picked up on. That would have made school so much better, although the sliding and crashing part would have needed some work.

She walked past the aisles of books. If her memory served her correctly, the entrance should be somewhere up ahead and to the left...she cut down through an aisle, thinking it would get her there faster.

She stopped. On one of the long tables was...something, she could not make out what it was. It was like a big lump, but it did not look like a cluttered pile of books, the curves did not look right. She stepped forward and stopped again when she felt something under her foot.

She reached down and pulled back with a wand. She sighed in relief. Now she could get some light in here.

"_Lumos,_" she whispered.

The light lit up the end of the wand, illuminating the surrounding area and revealing the lump on the table.

Hermione was barely able to contain her scream.

It was Loiselle. But not the animated, lively Loiselle she had seen several hours ago. He looked like he had been put through the Muggle meat grinder. His chest was imploded, his ribs were sticking out through his sides, and his arms and legs were torn apart. Blood was flowing rivers off the table and onto the floor. His eyes, hollow and bleak, were staring at her but not really staring at her, staring _past_ her. His mouth was partly open, a look of surprise that had not quite finished before his death.

It took her a few moments to calm herself down from the image. She turned around and squeezed her eyes shut, but the image was burned in her memory, and a sight like that was not easy to forget. She shuddered and moved away from the mess.

She had to get out of here. Now.

-----

"_Avada Kedavra!"_

"_Expelliarmus!"_

"_Crucio!"_

"_Reducto!"_

"_Deviggio!"_

Ron ducked as the blue-colored spell shot past his head and exploded the chandelier above them. The glass and sparks rained down around them as he stood back up to face Huntington.

The murderer grinned. One of Ron's Reductor Spells had hit him square in the mouth, knocking out one of his bottom teeth, and his teeth were covered in blood that drooled out onto the floor. In the sparking light, it only made him look more deranged.

Ron aimed his wand and fired a Disarming Spell that knocked the wand out of Huntington's hand. With a yell, the maniac rushed him and tackled him to the ground. Ron's wand flew out and landed in front of the door to the machine.

Huntington punched him twice in the face, and then grabbed his shirt, lifted him up, and then slammed him back down. He then repeated it again and again, throwing a punch in until Ron grabbed his fist and twisted it, then punched him off with his other fist.

The red-head then jumped on him and punched his straight in the face. There was a loud _crack!_ as Huntington's nose broke. Blood shot out from both nostrils, and he cried out in pain. Ron ignored it, punching him twice more in the same spot before Huntington grabbed his fist and head butted him off.

Ron fell backwards, groaning and clutching his forehead, but had no time to try and collect his thoughts before the murderer was upon him, one hand enclosing around his throat, the other reaching for his jaw and yanking it down. Ron tried to force him off, but the strength was too much for him. He tried kicking against him, to no avail. He bit down on one of Huntington's fingers, bit as hard and as fierce as he could until he could feel something tear.

There was a gut-turning _rip_ noise and a salty taste in Ron's mouth that was soon followed by Huntington screaming. He fell backwards and held his hand up,allowing Ron to see the damage. He had bitten the tip of Huntington's index finger almost off, hanging by some skin and the remainder of the bone. The killer had a pained, horrified expression on his face that soon turned into anger.

He got up and ran at him again, but Ron met him halfway and slammed head-first into his gut, knocking him backwards. Again they rolled, clawing at each other, punching when they could and deflecting when they could not. They slammed into the wall, and Ron kicked Huntington off him and reached up for a brick to help himself up.

_shunk!_

Ron cried out in pain as Huntington unearthed a knife from his sleeve and impaled his left hand to the wall. He gritted his teeth together and tried not to look at the blood that was seeping from the wound to the ground.

"Yeesh," Huntington said, looking at the wound, then back at Ron with a smirk. "You might want to get that looked at, brother."

He punched him in the gut, causing Ron to double over in double the pain. Then he calmly went over to pick up his wand.

Grunting painfully, Ron yanked at the knife as hard as he could until it finally let loose. His hand was already feeling numb as he examined the deep cut, but he tried to shrug it off. He ran at him, picking up a thin wood pillar from the debris caused by their spellwork.

Huntington had just reached for his wand when Ron smashed the pillar against his back, knocking him back to the ground. He kicked him in the gut, kicked his wand away, and went for his own. He grabbed it and aimed it at his rival.

"Okay," he panted, "I think we're done."

"I think we're still going," came the reply.

Huntington reached out to his wand. Almost instantly it flew across the floor into his open palm. His fingers closed around it as he brought it back up at Ron.

Ron barely had time to move his head before the blue-colored spell was fired at him. It exploded off one of the beams and rained the debris down on him. He winced as he felt the splinters rain down on his back.

He picked himself back up only to find that Huntington was gone. He looked around. Where the hell did he go? Did he flee, right in the middle of a fight? No...Cunningham never ran from a challenge. Huntington would not do so now; not with his identity and plans laid out in the open for all of them to see.

"_Roooooon..."_

His ears perked up. He could hear his voice...but where was he?

"_Rooooooon...follow the voice, Ronnie boy. Follow the voice."_

He was taunting him. _Son of a bitch...,_ he thought to himself.

"_Hurry up, Ronnie boy. Clock's ticking..."_

He hurried after the voice, the rational part of his brain telling him it was most likely a trap, but the irrational part wanted the chance to finally put this to rest once and for all.

-----

McAllen kicked the door down and vaulted down the stairs. He had absolutely no idea where Hermione had ended up, but was hoping that she knew and that she would make her way out of here. After he got her to the hut, he would run upstairs and get back to help.

He still could not believe it was Huntington. He had played pool with the guy right before he had left for his vacation, and had a couple drinks with him, and at no point did any homicidal tendencies emerge from that friendly, somewhat naïve exterior he had always emitted. How the hell was anyone supposed to pick a killer out of that mess of happiness?

He somehow sprinted down seven floors worth of stairs in under five minutes, an all-time record for him on any sprinting run. He hit the bottom floor and headed for the door when he suddenly slipped and fell on his back.

"Ow...son of a..." he lifted his hands off the floor to rub his head, and then stopped.

His hand was red.

"What the-?" he looked up, and immediately found himself throwing up all over the floor. Rodyle's body was still hanging from the chandelier, her head looking up towards a sky that for her was no longer there. The blood had been dripping down steadily until it had created a large puddle.

He vomited all that was in him and then looked up again, horrified. Jesus...if that was what happened to her, he did not even want to know about the other guys. And what of Ron, that was the bigger question. Huntington did this all on his own; what was to say he could not take Ron down too?

Sitting there in the blood puddle, McAllen came up with two options- do what Ron asked, find Hermione, and get the hell out and wait for the British Aurors to show up, or to go back up there and help in the fight. He had his orders, but how could he leave a fellow Auror behind to die? He was a self-thinker, but even he had a conscience.

Screw it. Hermione must know how to get out of there, and right now, Ron needed him. He pushed himself off the floor and scampered back up the way he had just come.

-----

Something was different, Hermione realized as she wandered the corridor. She should have known her way to the main hall by now, but the hallways were not as familiar as they had once been. She could not figure out what exactly it was, but this was not the same Hogwarts she had walked for seven years.

Could Huntington have done something? Warped parts of the castle so that they were different? That was extremely powerful magic, but if Voldemort had been so obsessed with becoming the most powerful wizard, why not this deranged man?

She turned down another hallway and found it reached a dead end. Before turning, however, she frowned and squinted. Something was at the end of the hall, sticking out of the wall. Something shiny. What was-

A hand clasped her back. She jumped, turned around, and screamed.

The man was incredibly burned, from the top of his bald, peeling scalp to his torn feet. His clothes were almost all torn off and his face was a twisted mess of flesh and fire. He smiled a smile that could have been a sneer.

"It's not safe here," he said in a gruff, hard voice that was older than he was. "Come with me. I'll lead you out."

"You...you're...are you...?"

"As a doornail." His jaw was clenched; she could see the structure beneath the skin and gave a shudder. "Name's Mathew. I fought with Ron during the war."

"What?" Her eyes widened. "You were in his-?"

"I was the only other who tried to fight it." Mathew extended his hand. "We need to get you out of here. The Auror's are on their way. I can take you to them."

Hermione looked past him down the hall. She had her exit, but...

"Ron-" she said.

"He's got it under control. He can finish this. You would just get in the way. Come on."

She looked back at him, into his sunken, hollow eyes. The eyes of someone who had seen a hard lifetime, and an even harder afterlife.

"Trust me," he growled. "Ron trusts me. And I'd never let a friend down."

She took his hand. She trusted him, even though she did not fully understand why.

He led her out and away from the hallway, down the second hall to the stairway, ignoring the two lone, bloodstained swords that were sticking out of the wall at the end of the hall.

* * *

Next chapter- The Final FINAL Battle.

Stay tuned, review, and see ya soon!


	26. Stay Dead

Chapter Twenty-Six is here and ready to delve into the last battle.

And yes, this IS the last battle. I drag it out any longer and I'm going to have a riot of reviewers on my hands.

And...it's actually shorter than I thought. I guess seeing it play out in my head is quicker than putting it into words.

Ah well.

Sonia Mines Lowry- Well, I figured if I'm gonna start something, and it's as popular as this has turned out to be, I'd better freaking finish it then. As for Huntington, I kept leaving little hints that I tried to make not obvious but was afraid someone would be "Waaaait..." Didn't happen, though, and at any rate I'm glad people were surprised at the outcome.

Dobbylover68- Thanks, and here ya go!

rhmac12- I think last chapter will be the last cliffhanger...though this one may be one, depending on how one views it.;

Aggiegurl12- Here you go! Hope it suits!

tryntee13- The thing many stories fail to have is a good ending fight. This is a trait going into books, and it bothers me a little. Why have build-up if the payout is not worth it? That being said, I saw this playing out longer in my head, but I think people will enjoy it. I like to have my stories end with a bang, unlike some authors nowadays (_cough cough Stephanie Meyer cough cough)._

ObsessedRHShipper- It's not alternate, it's just warped. Huntington has some abilities that are stronger than what most wizards have, as I've shown before. What are they exactly? Not too sure, but I'll figure it out some day.

So without further ado, here we go.

* * *

Chapter Twenty-Six: Stay Dead

The rain was pouring, the thunder was loud, and Ron was standing at the top of the Astronomy Tower looking for a murderer that may not have even been up there. Every shadow looked like a person, but was only just the walls toying with his mind, and every flash of lightening made him jump, for one can easily pull something off with a thunderous roar drowning out the sound.

The voice had led him here. Its owner was nowhere in sight. Ron crept forward, looking around all the while trying to ignore the numbing pain in his hand. There were not many places for him to hide up there; so where was he, if he was even here at all?

_thunk!_

He howled as the knife was thrust underneath his shoulder blade in his back, just behind his arm. He pulled away, the knife ripping apart the clothing and part of his skin as he pulled, and pressed his hand against it as he faced the assailant.

Huntington twirled the blood-stained blade around in his hand twice before clenching the hilt firmly in his right palm. The rain had made his usually bed-messed hair sopping wet, and parts of it had fallen down over his face. In the flash of the thunder his eyes looked strangely demonic, and his grin, missing teeth and all, just made the appearance more satanist and less humane.

"I wanted a more grand theater," he said in a hoarse voice over the rain.

"My wand versus your wand and knife...not exactly a fair fight," Ron gasped through the pain.

"I gave up on fair a long time ago. Now I'm just going to go with whatever finally gets you out of my hair the fastest."

"Alright then." Ron stood up as straight as he could, trying hard not to think of the searing pain in his back and ignoring the dizziness he was beginning to feel. "Come and get me."

Huntington's finger was gone- either it had fallen off on its own or he had just cut it off to be rid of the nuisance. He did not even pay it any mind; it was as though it were still there, and its loss caused no pain to him. Ron could barely keep his vision straight, the blood flowing from his hand and back seeping down his coat. He would have to make this as quick as he could.

Without warning, Huntington jumped forward and took a swing, missing Ron's chest by inches. Ron staggered backwards, catching himself before he teetered over the edge of the tower, and fired a curse that went past his head and into the night sky. Huntington swiped again, twice, missing.

Ron fell against a pillar and raised his wand when the blade swiped his arm. He recoiled, clutching the wound, and gave Huntington room to swipe at the other arm and retract without having to fear a punch.

The punch did come, a second too late, as Huntington ducked it and left a nice cut on Ron's leg. He allowed him to scatter away, hands clutching the small wound. He was aiming to hurt, not necessarily to maim or leave a scar. Not too deep, just enough to cause pain. Do it enough times, however, and it would leave its toll.

And sure enough, Ron was feeling it. He was losing blood fast, and the constant cuts at his arms and leg were only slowing him down further. Huntington, on the other hand, was not slowing down even slightly. _What the hell_, he wondered, _where does he still get his energy from?_ Was killing that much of a rush for him?

He had no time to register it, as Huntington took out another knife-_where the hell was he getting these from?- _and lurched forward. Ron ducked, and the knife sunk into the wall and stuck there.

Ron kicked Huntington in the gut, knocking him away, and pulled the knife out of the wall. Now with wand in one hand and knife in the other, he was equal in equipment to his rival. Question was- and it was a lingering one in his mind- would he be able to equal the other's speed?

Huntington gave him a questioning look, but Ron just indicated for him to go ahead and make his move, so he shrugged and took a swipe. The red-head dodged it, and took one of his own, which was avoided with such ease it was as though he had not even moved.

_He's mocking me..._

As Huntington went for a double-swipe, Ron somehow found the strength and speed to duck down under them, push himself up, and make a hard slash upwards. The blade cut across the killer's face, leaving a thin scar going from the right corner of his chin, up across his lips and broken nose, just over his left eye and chip a portion of his left eyebrow.

Huntington staggered backwards, stunned. He put his hand to his newly acquired scar as the blood began to trickle down from it. He chuckled lightly, faintly, before nodding in approval and returning to his pose.

Ron's strength felt sapped after that. The blood was starting to run faster, and his vision just was not agreeing with him anymore. Any more of this, and he would not need Huntington to finish him; his own stupid blood loss would cause his own death, and his corpse would just be rolled over the side as a precaution. Nice to have something to look forward to.

He was teetering against the edge again, and no sooner did he realize he was closer to falling off than he was to staying on than Huntington took another swipe that sent him and caused him to lose his balance. His foot slipped against the wet ground and he felt himself leave the platform, falling feet-down off sanctuary to the ground-

His mutilated hand caught on to the ledge and held to it long enough for him to swing his other arm up for support. The knife fell out and down towards the ground, never to be seen by him again. Quickly, he stole a glance downwards, and immediately wished he had not. He had been up here so many times with Harry and Hermione, and not until now did he finally comprehend why this the tallest tower in the castle.

He could only barely make out Hagrid's hut out of all the brown and green dots below him. Falling from this height, he wondered if he would be able to figure out the charm to keep him from hitting the ground before he actually did, or if he would plummet straight to the center of the earth before he would get the chance. Blimey, it was high...and then there was his dislike for the heights, coming in then. From a broomstick, heights were no problem. Here...Good God, was it bad.

_(Lord, take care of me, because if you don't, you're going to end up with me on your hands)_

He looked back up and saw Huntington standing over him, twirling the knife around between his fingers.

"How's about this, then?" he asked. "Role reversal, me standing over you, about to push you off into nothingness. Fitting."

He lifted his foot and slammed it down. Ron inched his hand away, but winced as his pinky and ring fingers caught the impact of what felt like an anvil smash into them. How much more damage could his hands take, he wondered, before they would finally fall off?

Well, he answered himself as the foot was raised up again, he was about to find out.

The second time, he took his hand off entirely. Hanging by one hand and looking down certainly gave him a new perspective on his life, though the only thing that he knew for certain was that if he ever made it out of this, he would ensure that his job would never end him up dangling from a tower. Even if he had to quit, this was never going to happen again.

He brought his hand back and took the other off as Huntington tried a third time.

"_Hold still, damn you_!" Huntington screamed over the rain. "_Let me kill you in peace already!"_

_Yeah, I'll get right on that, mate, _Ron thought begrudgingly, knowing that the freak would be getting his wish in a matter of minutes. How long could he hope to keep this up? Not very, with one hand pretty much out of comi-

He yelped as Huntington's foot came down square on his punctured hand and remained there, pressing firmly into the wound and made it feel like he was tearing it wide open. He gritted his teeth, the tears flowing down his face along with the rain. Gods, that hurt...

He looked up at Huntington's psychotic grin as he felt the foot drag his hand off the ledge, and it was at that point that the dawning realization of what was about to happen. His wand was in his other hand, just by his two fingers, but he could not conjure any spells to his mind; and really, what was the bother? It was done, he was sure of it at this point. He felt his hand going off the ledge, bit by bit, until his finger and the foot that was about to kill him was the only thing keeping him holding on...

And then McAllen ran from the side and tackled Huntington and threw him to the floor. Ron felt himself fall, but held on by his other hand, grasping at the bump between the ledge and the floor that at the moment was the only thing keeping him from falling a couple thousand feet to his death.

He grunted, trying to swing his leg onto the bricks jutting out of the wall, but the rain combined with his lack of foot-eye coordination made it difficult. The more he tried, the faster his foot slipped off and dangled over thin air.

He felt like a fool, and he was sure he looked like one. Here he was, a full-time Auror, no longer a clumsy Hogwarts student, now dangling single-handedly off the side of the Astronomy Tower, covered in cuts and bruises, his whole body feeling on fire, his hand mauled to the point of no saving, while the worst mass murderer since Voldemort was battling it out with one of his men. Well, he thought, it could have been worse. He could have had toilet paper stuck to his shoe.

No more feeling sorry for himself. McAllen could not take Huntington by himself, he would surely be killed. He had to get up there and pry them apart; the two of them together could possibly do it.

With a loud grunt, he swung his foot onto the brick. It slipped a little, but he forced his foot to hold in its place with a stern mental message. He took a deep breath, making sure his foot was steady where it was, before swinging his other arm back onto the ledge. His fingers grasped at the bump in the ledge and held fast, held hard, while he secured his foot into a crack in the wall to keep him for a little while.

Grunting and panting, he raised himself up to peek over the side of the tower. Holding himself up, he could see Huntington and McAllen rolling around, grabbing at each others throats, one over the other. The knife had landed near the middle of the tower, out of their reach. Sometimes they came close to the edges, but they always managed to steer away and roll around the circular perimeter.

McAllen punched him in the face, picked him up by the collar, and slammed his head back down onto the concrete. He raised his fist to punch again, but Huntington flipped them over and slammed him against the wall. He hit his head against it twice before McAllen flipped them back over and punched him once, twice-

On the third punch, Huntington moved his head. The result was the fist hitting the wall, making a loud cracking noise.

"OW! SON OF A _BITCH_!" McAllen screamed, falling backwards and clutching his hand in pain.

Huntington leapt back upon him, knife back in his hand, blade pointed downward. McAllen caught his arm in time, but the result was him laying on his back, both his hands struggling against a knife that, at any wrong move, would go plunging right into his eye.

Ron kicked his feet up off their resting places as he scurried to get back over the wall. Clawing at the slippery surface surface, he reached forward, with every ounce of willpower trying to get himself back up onto solid ground. His chest worked with him, his stomach heaving as he hoisted himself up. With nothing to grab onto, and the rain hampering his progress at every turn, it was difficult.

He positioned his foot on another brick, and it slipped, once again throwing his lower half into open air. He slid backwards a little, but he dug his nails into the granite, scratching them against it until they were almost nothing, but he kept his place as he swung his foot back onto the brick and yanked himself up.

It was mind over matter, and the faster he made it up there the better. McAllen was in a losing battle, as the knife was inching itself closer and closer to his eyeball and to the point of going right through. Huntington's free hand was aiding the other arm, pushing down with all his force, while the Auror tried to push against it with one good hand and one broken hand. The blade inched ever so closely...

With a loud, pained grunt, Ron rolled back onto the solid ground, giving a quick blessing for finally being off the ledge, rolled to his feet, and slammed into Huntington at full force, knocking him away and allowing McAllen to breathe.

He felt pain in his side as he felt the knife slide into his left side and come out, taking a bit of flesh with him. He yelled out in pain and fell back, clutching his side as blood flowed freely from the wound.

He looked up as Huntington stood, face splashed with blood, bruised and scarred and broken, grinning a missing-toothed grin. He raised his wand so that it was pointed straight at Ron's face, giggling softly but slowly building in volume. Ron still had his wand in his free hand and he raised it-

"_Expelliarmus!"_ The words of the Disarming Charm flew out with the red-colored spell as it sent his wand sprawling towards McAllen, away from its owner. Defenseless, Ron just glared up as Huntington continued laughing, prepared to say the curse that at any moment would be finishing the fight.

"_Deviggi-"_

The words were quenched in his throat as an arm reached out from behind and wrapped around, and a second hand plunged a small knife into his side, in between his rib cage. The smile slid off Huntington's face as a look of pained shock fluttered across it, and a small gasp escaped his lips.

And then Skip DuMont's face appeared from over his shoulder, blood dripping from his nose and mouth, his brow furrowed, his red-stained teeth gritted harshly. For the first time in the years he had known him, Ron was actually afraid of his friend; he looked every bit as murderous as any Death Eater had ever had.

Skip then began to stab Huntington repeatedly in the same spot, and with every stab he took he gasped out the words:

"You two-timing," _stab! _"back-stabbing," _stab! _"_lowlife_," _stab! _"Cowardly _son of a BITCH!"_

At the last word, he ripped the knife out and plunged it into Huntington's back, right into his spinal cord. He then fell backwards, knife dropping to the floor, his hands returning to cover his wound that was flowing rivers of blood all down his front.

Huntington gasped for air as he staggered backwards, then fell to his knees just before he was to go over the cliff. His eyes were still wide with surprise as he tried to form the words that were just not coming out anymore. They could see the emotions dance across his face- first disbelief, then fear, and finally pain- as he tried to keep his eyelids from closing, a job that was becoming more and more impossible with each fleeting second.

_(I...they killed me? Son of a...)_

Ron held out his hand to McAllen, who threw him his wand, and stood up and crossed over to him, stopping directly in front of him. Huntington looked up as he raised his wand so that it was pointed directly at his face.

In that moment, Ron saw that last moment with Cunningham on the edge of the lake. The feeling of ending it was just as strong now as it had three years before, when he had sent his former partner over the edge of the cliff and put his legacy to rest. He glared down at this new man, the follower of Cunningham, and he bent down so that they were face to face for the very last time.

"This time," he growled, his voice filled with snake's venom, "_stay dead._"

And in one final fluid move, he stood up straight and planted a kick right in the center of Huntington's chest that sent him spiraling off the edge of the tower and down into the void below. He stood over the ledge and looked down at the rapidly decreasing dot that had been his friend-turned-enemy and did not look away until he could see it no more, and did not move until he was sure, finally, that he was dead.

* * *

Kinda short, but mix it with the fight from before and I think it's a good way to go.

Yup, Skip's still alive. Come on, guys, I'm not THAT heartless. Give me SOME credit, jeez.

Well, anyway, not quite done yet. I still got two more chapters for you guys to read, so stay tuned, review, and I'll see you very, VERY soon.


	27. Home

Chapter Twenty-Seven.

ObsessedRHShipper- The argument I give there is the same one the Joker gave in the _Dark Knight_; Wands are too quick. I didn't feel like I could write a real long magic duel, so I went with something that I knew I could make a real fight out of. I wanted it to feel like a really appropriate final fight, more for myself than for the readers, and I felt I got that.

TheDivaDivine- Well, I DID say I had a plan for the characters and not to expect anything. Haha. But that's great, I'm glad you found I pulled that off. Huntington was every bit as cunning as his brother, and he kept that right until the end. I find happy endings where everyone goes home happy are sappy and unrealistic, but I like how this story ended out. It's the only ending I think would work.

Chocolatelover68- I'll keep the name change in mind, :). I have a date for the story to end, and it is very soon.

rhmac12- I think Ron and Skip will be just fine. :D

Aggiegurl12- Yup yup! Go Skip! Haha.

cateyes913- Thanks! And here's the update! One more update left!

Bring it on home now.

* * *

Chapter Twenty-Seven: Home

The British Aurors never expected upon arrival that a body would be falling from the sky. They had just pulled up the vans and were getting out and readying their orders when something came down on one of the vans so hard that the Muggle vehicle folded up and crumpled when it landed on their roof. The noise made everyone of them jump; one or two of them definitely fell over.

The lead Auror took one look at the mess and instantly turned away. He had never had to see a body fall a thousand feet and land before, and he sure was not ready for the mess that it had left behind. He looked up at where the body had fallen from, then turned to his men.

"Check it out," he ordered. "Hurry. They may be in trouble."

-----

Clutching his side as tightly as he could, Ron made his way over to Skip to check out his wounds. The swords had gone right through his chest, piercing his ribcage and probably puncturing a lung. That last was decided due to the heavy ragged breathing that Skip was emitting, though this may have been in part due to the massive blood loss he had suffered as a result. His glasses were askew on his face, his face a bloody mess.

"How are you doing, Skippy?" Ron asked, his own voice hoarse and weak-sounding.

"Been better," came the feeble reply. "Been loads better. I preferred my blood when it was IN me, y'know?"

"Well, hang on. You're going to be okay."

Skip's eyelids fluttered, and his breathing labored, and for a split second Ron feared that he had passed out on them, but then his eyes cracked open.

"I'm okay..." he said softly. "I'm okay...I'll be okay."

"That's right, you'll be okay."

"I'll be okay..."

McAllen approached them, nursing his broken hand while looking on. Ron grabbed Skip's hand and held it tightly in his and was amazed to see that the hand was gripping just as tightly back. Skip smiled, blood still staining his teeth.

Ron smiled back, happy and astonished that they had both survived. They were the only two left; two out of the six that had left America barely a week ago, coming to an assignment that was sure to be the defining moment of their careers. For all except two, it had also been the end of them.

Then McAllen finally spoke up, breaking the silence.

"So...can we go home now?" he asked optimistically.

Ron laughed and Skip snorted out a chuckle. The red-head nodded and looked up at their New Jersey-native friend.

"Yeah," he said. "Let's go home."

-----

The British Aurors had arrived five minutes after they had begun their descent from the Astronomy Tower, and had immediately begun to aid them. Now, with his wounds bandaged and a half-drunk potion in his free hand, Ron watched solemnly as the bodies of Jean Loiselle and Annika Rodyle were carried out on stretchers, white blankets already staining red covering their now-still forms.

As easy as it was to feel happy for the end, the loss of his teammates still sobered him up to the reality that was left for him. He was the one who would have to go to the families and explain things. He was the one who would have to arrange their memorial services. He was going to have to put up with the reminder that sometimes they all made it and sometimes they did not.

He moved past them and looked down at the blanket that was covering Huntington with a satisfied look. The man had lied to all of them, lead them along for months, pretending to be their friend all the while being a cold-blooded murderer, and the brother of the worst human being Ron's history. He had gotten what he had deserve; Ron was satisfied with that, and satisfied with him being the one to push him off the top.

Then Skip was carried out, a mediwizard already administering potions and spells to heal the wound. Ron tore his eyes away from the covered corpses and returned to his side as he was carried onto the truck.

"Just hang in there, Skippy. You're heading home, you'll be A-Okay real soon," he told him.

"Yeah...don't worry about me." Already Skip's face was beginning to show more color, and his breathing was slightly steadier. He was a tough cookie, as anyone who knew him would already know. Ron had no doubts left in him that his partner- and best friend- would be perfectly fine.

"Mr. Weasley?" He turned to see an Auror hold out a sealed envelope to him. "This arrived a little while ago for Mr. DuMont."

Ron took it and carefully opened it, pulling a small letter out and unfurling it. He read all four or five lines that accompanied it, then his lips broke into a wide smile.

"Skippy," he said, looking up and showing him the letter. "It's Kristina. She's in the hospital."

Skip's eyes widened and his mouth opened.

"Is he-?"

"Congratulations, Will." Ron handed him the letter, overjoyed. "You are the proud father of a bouncing baby boy."

He watched as Skip read over the paper, once, twice, then blinked, looked up at him, then looked back down and read it a third time. He then fell back against his stretcher, pressing the letter to his chest, with a loopy grin on his face.

"Hey Ron?" he called.

"Yeah?" responded the other.

"Remind me never to bet against my wife again."

Ron laughed. "Will do. Take it easy."

Skip waved one final time as the doors closed and the van took off. Ron watched it go, shaking his head. Only Skip could go into a police action zone and come out with two serious wounds and a baby boy born. At least he would be able to get back to see his son alive.

"He'll be fine."

McAllen walked up beside him, his bandaged hand in a sling, taking the finishing sips on what was already his second cup of coffee.

"Give him a few weeks, and he'll bounce back, just like he always does," he said. "He'll be on his feet again in no time."

"Yeah, I know." Ron turned and looked at him. "So what are you doing now?"

"Well, I've still got three more days on the vacation, and there's a two hundred-foot-tower in MGM that I'm finally getting the courage to conquer," McAllen gave him a toothy grin. "My friend, I am headed to Disney."

"Right well," He reached out to shake hands, but laughed when he realized the only available hand was in a sling. His friend chuckled, placed his cup in the crook of his arm, and returned the gesture. "Give yourself an extra day if you feel you need to."

"Yeah, no problem." McAllen took his coffee, nodded, and walked off when he was called again.

"Hey Joe?" He turned back around. Ron smiled at him.

"Thanks, mate," he said. "For everything."

McAllen shuffled his feet, somewhat embarrassed. Rarely did he ever receive thanks for anything.

"Yeah, well..." he said, shaking it off. "Just remember I'm going to want a pay raise when I get back to work."

Ron laughed, harder than he had had in a while. "We'll talk about it."

McAllen raised his cup in cheers, then turned and walked off again, and once again Ron watched his teammate walk away with his life still in his hands. He found it incredible that the one who had endured the least had ended up saving their lives.

He looked up at the sky and closed his eyes, allowing the rain to fall upon his face and wash the dirt and blood off him. Alive. What an incredible word it was, especially right now. A week ago, he had been alive, but it was not really alive, was it? It had been more walking around as though he had suffered the Dementor's Kiss. Here he felt like he was sixteen again, standing outside on a rainy day and appreciating the fact that he had a heart and that it was beating, and he could feel it beating now when he could not feel it before.

Oh, what a feeling it was! How long had he gone without it, gone living without really living? Too long, it felt. Well, he was sure to never let that happen again. His life could go forward now, with nothing to hold him back, no memories, no nightmares, nothing.

"Sir?" Another Auror had come up to him, but Ron did not listen at first. He stood there, face towards the sky as though God's hand was coming down to collect him. He stood like that until the other man reached forward and tapped his shoulder. Ron opened his eyes and looked back at him.

"Sir," he said, and pointed off behind them, towards the castle.

He looked back, and he found her standing there, staring right at him, looking like a drowned rat in the rain and shivering slightly but looking at him with a content face. Her arms were bandaged where she had tore at her skin, but otherwise, she was okay.

He approached her, looking at her and feeling more love in his heart than he had felt in years. When he reached her, he brought his hand to her face and caressed her cheek lightly before leaning in and kissing her softly, allowing warmth to flood from him to her, and from what her response was, the life had returned to her as well.

When he ended it, the first thing he felt compelled to ask was, "Did you make it out alright? No one attacked you?"

"I'm fine," she responded. "I had some help."

"Help?"

Ron looked up past her at the school, and saw Mathew standing in the doorway, arms folded, leaning against the frame. He smiled. The Spectre gave a small nod, and in that moment Ron could see the Mathew he had once been, the young, lively man who had been the reason he had found the strength to survive. The Cunningham war was over for more than just him; now, Mathew could finally be in peace too.

He watched as the burned man got off the frame and retreated back into the castle, disappearing from sight. Somehow, Ron had the feeling he would not choose to remain there for long. And another part of him felt that they would meet again, hopefully for a peaceful reunion.

"Come on," Hermione said, tugging at his shirt. "Let's go home."

"Where's home?" he asked her, looking back into her eyes.

It was the unanswered the question, the one that had ultimately torn them apart three years before. For the first time, however, there was no hesitation on Hermione's face when she gave her answer:

"Home is wherever I'm with you."

And it was the answer that seemed to close the chapter on that part of their relationship, as he pulled her in for another hug and kissed the top of her forehead. Now _they_ could move forward as well.

Together they walked away from the school, away from the carnage left inside, and headed for the Portkey that would take them back to London.

High above them, the rain was beginning to stop, and the sun was finally beginning to poke itself through the clouds as the new day began.

* * *

NOT OVER YET!

Not over yet!

There's still one more chapter for you guys! And I'll make sure to post it on Sunday, which, if you look at the date, you'll know why that'll be important for me.

Oh, by the way: If you recall, Kristina was the one saying the child would be a boy while Skip was sure it'd be a girl. Just to clear it up, if needed.

But in the meantime, post any more questions you have for me, I'll try my best to answer them, review, and I'll see you guys on Sunday.


	28. Epilogue

And without further ado, here we have the Twenty-Eighth and Final Chapter of Crawling Under the Surface.

Enjoy, and be sure to keep reading until the very end of the page, because there is a LOT I need to talk about at the end of this chapter.

* * *

Epilogue.

_Eight years later..._

* * *

The sun was just coming over the city, the yellow-orange rays just beginning to shoot out from behind the tall skyscrapers. It reflected upon the water, shining into the eyes of an old man who was taking his dog for a walk along the river. They slowly slid up and along the tall buildings, shining into the apartments and waking the weary occupants to the new day.

In one such apartment, the door to the parent's bedroom slowly opened a crack. A head with messy red curls and a face loaded with freckles cautiously peeked in to see if the occupants of the large two-person bed were awake. There were two lumps in the bed, as there should be; they were both still asleep. One rolled around and made a grunting noise, and a hairy leg poked through a hole at the end of the covers.

The figure ducked back behind the door when she heard the grunt, giggling softly at the noise. The door opened slowly further and the head returned, this time followed by a stick-thin body in pink-and-white stripped pajamas with feet attached. She was very young, no older than six years old at most, and very nimble and agile. Her brown eyes had a mischievous glint in them as she tiptoed into the room, sneaking in just like she saw the cat do it on the television.

She slowly crept up onto the end of the bed and stood over the lump on the left side of the bed and took a deep inhale of breath.

"_Daddy, wake up!" _she shouted, and cannonballed on top of him.

There was a loud groan as her knees dove into the gut that lay under the sheets. The top of the covers were pushed off as Ron Weasley's head popped up, looking extremely tired and yet when he saw this little girl, smiling with a tooth missing from when she had lost it a week ago, he could not help but smile either.

"And just what do you think you're doing?" he asked her, pretending to sound stern and not succeeding by much.

"Waking you up," she said, her little voice making her sound so innocent yet her grin made her look so mischievous.

"Oh? And why are you doing that when YOU should still be asleep, young lady?" With that, he grabbed her and began tickling her, causing her to emit high-pitched squeals of laughter as she tried to escape.

The other side of the covers pushed off of Hermione Granger-Weasley as she sat up, woken up by all the noise. Her tired eyes surveyed the scene of her husband as he wrestled with their six-year-old daughter, and her only concern was that he would be careful with her.

"What are you doing up, young lady?" Ron asked, subsiding from the tickeling.

"I-it's..." the little girl had to catch her breath, exhausted from laughing so hard. "It's Saturday, Daddy. You said you'd play with me today!"

"Well, I was hoping to get started..." He glanced at the clock beside his bed, "a little later than seven o'clock in the morning, Leslie."

"You got an owl," Leslie handed him a small envelope. "It looked like it was ur...urga..."

"Urgent, honey," Hermione said tiredly.

Ron took the envelope and opened it, scanning its contents quickly. He groaned.

"McAllen," he explained. "He's having troubles with the new interns. They are a _wild_ lot, it's like we hired them straight out of the zoo."

"Oh..." Hermione sighed. "You should go help him, then."

"Mmm...no, that's okay." Ron wrote a quick reply on the back of the letter, then handed the letter to Leslie. "Send this back with the owl, kiddo. Then go get dressed, we'll go to the park today."

"Yay!" Leslie took the note and rushed out of the room, almost tripping over the door frame as she went out. Hermione snuggled up against Ron's chest.

"You sure? McAllen's not the best candidate for training interns," she reminded him.

"Well, he's going to have to learn," he said, kissing her forehead. "Today's my day off, and it's your day off, and we haven't had a day off together in months. I don't care if Ray has set his desk on fire, I'm not to be disturbed today."

"Well, I guess I can't complain about that," she said with a smile, planting a kiss on her husband's lips. "We should probably get dressed then."

She stood up, pushing the rest of the covers off of her as she stood to go to their adjacent bathroom. Ron pushed his covers off and sat up, looking out the window as the sun shone through.

They had stayed in England for seven months after the Huntington Massacres- as the incident had become known in England and the United States- so that Hermione could finish up her medical residency and prepare her packing for Ron's apartment in Manhattan. She transferred to the wizarding hospital in Brooklyn, where she was now a senior attending mediwizard. It had taken a few months, adjusting to the customs of American, but Hermione, with Ron and the DuMont family's help, she accepted her new home as though she had always lived there.

A year and six months after moving, she had given birth to their daughter Leslie, who as she grew older looked like a feminine version of her father, but had her mother's brains. She was now a month into the first grade, and was already excelling in Muggle elementary school, bringing in spelling tests with shiny gold stickers on them. Ron and Hermione were debating on whether they were going to send her to Muggle school or wizarding school when she turned eleven. That was still a long way away, though, and they would cross that bridge when they came to it.

There was a picture of the three of them next to his clock, and he picked it up and looked at the three smiling faces. This had been taken at the zoo, and Ron was handing his then three-year-old daughter her ice cream cone. As much as he loved the sight of the happy family, Ron sometimes wondered what would happen if three became four.

They had made attempts, several of them, over the last few years to find the child Hermione had given up due to his departure, and in those years, they had thus far been unlucky. It was unlikely now that they would ever find him/her, wherever they were. Ron just hoped that wherever they were, they were happy, and that the parents were treating them the way he and Hermione would have treated them.

"Ron?"

Hermione came out of the bathroom, towel drying off her wet hair, dressed now in a T-shirt and jeans to go out in. He turned back to her, the smile back on his face.

"Are you okay?" she asked.

"Yeah," he responded, placing the picture back on the table. "Just thinking of things."

"Daddy,"Leslie came back into the room, also dressed to out, wearing the pink fall coat that her mother had bought for her. "I'm hungry."

"Let's make some pancakes, Leslie," said Hermione, taking her daughter's hand and leading her out while the girl squealed in delight.

Ron stared after them with a serene expression. Over the last eight years, everything had worked out perfectly. There had been some apprehension, first with the move and then with the pregnancy, but it had worked out, mainly with Skip and Kristina's help. The two had not had any more children, but with two growing girls and a growing boy, that was alright by them. Skip, as predicted, had bounced back from his wounds and now, with Ron, they were running the entire Auror division in Manhattan. Ron was in the top desk; Skip was right under him.

He stood up and put his clothes on, planning out the day. After breakfast, he would take his family to the park and let Leslie run around the jungle gym and play in the leaves. Later, they would head to Skip's house for a dinner big enough for the eight of them. Then they would return home, Leslie close to passing out, and maybe they would watch a movie together.

A classic family life. What he had always wanted.

"Ron, hurry up."

"I'm coming," he called to his wife.

He stood in the doorway, looked over at his bed, then smiled and closed the door behind him.

He had not had a nightmare in eight years.

His life was now the one he had hoped for when they had graduated high school, with Hermione, with their daughter.

And he would not have it any other way.

**The End**

* * *

And that's Crawling Under the Surface, ladies and gentlemen! Three years to the day of starting this story and now it's finally finished!

Thank you all so much for sticking with the story to the very end. I know it's been a year and a half longer than it should have been, and that's my fault due to the hiatus I took and all that, but I'm happy to say that you all made this story worthwhile for me. I see the hits go up every day, the new story favorites and alerts, and I read each and every review that comes in, and the amount of people that this story has drawn in is amazing to me, and it's all thanks to you.

I started this story three years ago, during a time where things weren't exactly going well for me and I needed a thoroughly depressing story to try and channel myself through. And now three years later...well, life could be better, but it could definitely be a lot worse, so I guess I can say I'm in a better place than before.

During the last three years, I've undergone a huge development in how I write, and I tried to make that apparent from Chapter 17 until the end. This turned into a very important story for me, and I'm happy that it came out so well, though I'll admit, there are a couple things I wish I could go back and change now. Oh well, I think everything turned out for the best.

Now, normally, I save this spot at the end of the story to thank the reviewers and anyone else that has supported the story. This time around, however, I don't think I can get them all, because there were just so many of you. So I'm going to thank as many of you as I can, and if I miss any of you, I just want to let you know, it's not you, it's me.

With that said, thank yous to the following people:

Reader of Cannon FF

SpiderQueenSkylar

MissAmanda

Avanell

L-Ae-D

SilentDre

Vogon Jelts

iheartdrummers

Wanderer27

juanli

flash wonder cat

charma10

ako

MizBookieWormie

Tara22

Owl of the Night

LitaFanForLife

smore4u1

Heather

wasu

Mione-Girl.x

wow60

Aslaug Vanessa

TheDivaDivine

rhmac12/Kristen

Chocolatelover68 (formerly Dobbylover68)

cursingjarvey

And last, but most certainly not least, thanks to the woman whose psychologically fucked-up and wonderfully written stories served as the inspiration to this story:

Salemsoriginal99

But I assume the big question right now- and I haven't gotten any reviews asking this, so I don't know if people are really questioning it, but I figure I'd just get it out of the way before people DO ask- is:

_Will there be a sequel?_

And my answer to that for the moment, until I say otherwise, is:

Maybe.

But not for a while.

So until that day comes, I'm going to have these characters take it easy.

Finally, I want to talk to you guys about my next Harry Potter Fanfiction project.

It's not a Ron-Hermione story. In fact, with the exception of a possible cameo from one of the book characters, it's not going to have any of them in it, and it's not even going to take place in England.

No, this story is going to be a Muggle OC story. It's definitely going to be more of a character driven story, and I'll say it now, it's going to be very long and have a lot of characters in it. And I don't want to give too much of it away, because I want people not knowing what to expect going in, but I do want to let you all know right now:

This story is going to be different. A lot different. In fact, I'm pretty sure I'm attempting something that's never been done before in the Harry Potter universe. Or maybe it has, and I just never saw it, but maybe it hasn't been done to the extent that I plan on taking it. This is probably going to be the biggest thing I ever attempt to do for this website, and given the projects I've attempted over these last three almost four years, that's saying a lot.

With that said, I just beg that readers go into this with an open mind. People tend to distrust things that are new or different, and this story will either be a huge hit or a resounding failure. I will say, though, that I would not attempt to do this if I was not one hundred percent sure I could pull it off. I am sure of that, hence why I am going to do it.

The acting title that I'll post it up as will be _"We Stand Alone Together."_ Corny, I know, but there you have it. I say acting title, though that may very well be the actual title overall. "Crawling Under the Surface" wasn't supposed to be the real title of this story, but I never came up with anything better, so it stayed as that. Anyway, it'll come out as a rated T story, though that may change to M as we go along. Experience has shown me that I am definitely more of a mature writer than I gave myself credit for, so we'll just have to see.

In fact, you know what, any Harry Potter story I do from now on, just assume it'll be a Rated M story. Unless it's a one-shot.

Anyway, expect it out sometime within the next month or so.

With that said, leave any final reviews you have, favorite the story, and make sure you put me on Author Alert so you can always know what's going on.

And until next time, I'm Wesker888, and I'm just another freak in the freak kingdom.

I'll see you all soon.

Thanks again.


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